One Dream, One Vision
by severnlight
Summary: What started as a series of one-shots revolving around Vader and his favorite people, seems to be evolving into a multi-chapter fic :P The story begins right before the fateful #6 issue of Marvel's Darth Vader, where Vader finds out from Boba Fett that Luke is his son. It goes into AU-land immediately after the events on Bespin.
1. Prologue

Four standard hours past the midnight shift call aboard the Devastator, the heavy durasteel doors silently shut behind the Dark Lord of the Sith, and for the first time in what seemed like an entirely too long of a rotation, he felt blissfully alone. He longed for the relative comfort of his meditation chamber, and the droid aides were quick to assist him in taking the accursed helmet and mask off. The enriched atmosphere inside his pod supplied pure oxygen which burned what was left of his lungs, but he welcomed the feeling. It was just another descant in his cacophony of pain - a constant and most loyal companion - that filled him with cold, detached hatred, and sharpened his focus. The Force swirled around him in waves of turbulent eddies. He was in control of the pain. He was in control...

Vader submitted to his weariness, and allowed himself to drift off. Past the twilight of consciousness, he felt a light breeze on the scarred features of his face, and heard water, gently splashing… a fountain, yes… shimmering in the soft glow of familiar, intricately wrought Naboo nightlights. He had to be dreaming then, for she was there, too, at the veranda… just where she liked to stand, admiring the nightscape, a lifetime ago. A lifetime when he was weak, confused, unfocused, tormented… but he is not that man now.

The vision is crisp and haunting - she stares out into the night, the delicate lines of her back caressed by her ornate nightdress, underneath a familiar cascade of silky curls. He senses that she is waiting for him, frozen in an endless moment, silently beckoning. He surrenders to her spell and moves closer, stands behind her and lifts his hands - both warm, real - to gently pull her hair aside and trace her bare shoulder. She arches gracefully into his touch, then turns around, and in the darkness, he can't quite read her expression, but he he knows what she needs, like he always has, understands where she wants to go, and how she longs to get there. He can help her leave her power behind, and her reason, just for a little while, and surrender. Only to the worthy one, only to him.

And he will oblige her, for he would give her anything - _anything_ she asks. He would tear the galaxy apart, rebuild it in her image, and lay it at her feet… Raw feelings flood his being like red-hot razor blades, but he slams them aside - he will deal with them later... Now, he will simply sink in this moment forever. He strips off her power gently, but his touch is one of concealed steel, unbending, ripe with dark promises he has her taste on his lips, and she lets him, allows him to lull her reason, hold her, lay her core bare for him. And he takes her on a journey in the darkness, soaring over peaks of tension, diving into seas of smooth silk, through harsh breaths and soft whispers, in a symphony of pleasure, inescapable, saturating, overwhelming her senses…

He presses on, and she welcomes him, meets his fervor, surrenders to him. He demands so much - she can't bear the pleasure any longer - her eyes, unfocused, hold his entire universe, ready to be born, explode… And he likes having her just so - undone, vulnerable, trusting, as he holds her at the edge of the abyss at his mercy, for his own pleasure. She pleads for him to let her fall, but he is intoxicated, and only tightens his hold, because her body, her soul are his now, she belongs to him, like she ought to, and he revels in her expression as she finally comprehends the truth, and accepts it, accepts _him_ , and moans his name as if in despair, _his_ name, not Anakin's... His control shatters… he lets her off the edge, into the abyss… But she does not fall, she soars, they soar together in exquisite abandon, and in her rapture she calls out to him in sweet reverence…

Vader woke abruptly as if struck with a live wire, struggling to catch his breath, the illusive feeling of perfect bliss swept away in one cold, sobering instant. The recurring theme of this dream was his very own brand of self-inflicted torment. He knew that she would have never accepted him. She had told him so herself, she had betrayed him… and now, it was too late, far too late. He felt helpless as the red-hot razor blades returned to cut deep into his soul.

The shrill sound of the comm which had brought him out of the dream indicated a personal transmission of some importance, and he struggled for several minutes to restore a semblance of control before answering. His quiet, but icy tone, sent fireworks of shivers down the responding lieutenant's spine.  
"My Lord Vader..." the lieutenant presented a pale and cautiously worried expression under a thin veneer of painstakingly projected professionalism. "The bounty hunter you expected has made contact. He believes that he has some information of value to you, and will rendezvous with us within two hours."  
"Alert me when he arrives. Engage with highest level of security if he brings a captive."  
"Yes, my Lord.", the lieutenant nodded enthusiastically as Vader cut the connection.

The long awaited news from Boba Fett was a welcome distraction, but he needed some time to compose himself and restore his control before the mask went back on. Vader knew that he needed meditation to recover, but he could not reach the cold hatred at his core… grief always managed to penetrate his apathy, to dampen the anger and hatred. He closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to wander in hopes that by letting the feeling take over fully, it will begin to dissipate.

His mind roamed aimlessly, and for a few long seconds, he felt like he did not want it to return. There was nothing here, nothing of value left. Suddenly, a wisp of silvery smoke appeared in his consciousness, right at the edge of the abyss. He turned to it, and slowly drew closer, reaching out. The shimmering thread unraveled further, leading him higher, and he followed it. The wisp swirled around and hovered atop a bridge, which had now materialized over the abyss, and he heard _her_ voice again, whisper "Anakin…"

To that name, Vader had not been subjected to in a long while, and it both struck him and filled him with disbelief. "Anakin…", she went on softly, "You must protect him, Anakin…. You must keep him safe." Vader, still stunned, felt like he had now lost all grip on reality.  
" **Him?...** ", he finally managed to rasp out.

He felt his old connection to her come to life, and grasped desperately with all willpower for a hold on the glowing wisp. It danced through the grip of his mechanical fingers, then split in two strands, unraveling in separate directions. Without hesitation, he followed the closest one. It continued its swirling dance, leading him to an isolated place in his mind - the location of a shrine that he had built, but never visited. It was a mental marker, a headstone crafted of purest shards of pain and despair, made when he had lost all, and had died, and was brought back. Here, he had informally buried his unborn child.

Vader did not want to come near, but the light circled and danced over the headstone. He thought of the child, the grief drowning him again, but with it this time returned the anger, and the hate, and the will to live, to punish the universe... and himself. He approached the shrine, steadied his mind, and laid a hand on the stone, seeking out the full, gruesome weight of the oppressive silence he expected and deserved. Instead, the shimmering wisp calmed down to a soft glow, then settled itself comfortably beneath his palm. "Father?..." the message came clear through the force, although he heard no voice speak the word.

Vader had had enough. His rare, self-indulgent dreams of her, he was used to. He accepted them, and they were worth the aftermath. But this? It felt different, too real, and for a brief moment, he entertained the thought that he was finally losing his mind. But Padmé's voice was unfeigned, he had felt her presence… and who had she spoken of? The shrine, he could not even think of it. It was infuriating for his visions to intrude upon and mock that particular loss. **There was no one left to protect.**

He hesitated, then very carefully reached out in the direction of the shrine. He sensed the little wisp of light, still there, dormant and quiet, but very much alive. Vader circled it, but did not attempt contact again. He did not understand what was happening, but he was going to find out soon enough, and when he did, there would be hell to pay.

The comm interrupted his reverie.  
"Lord Vader.", began the lieutenant, "Boba Fett has arrived, and has requested an audience."


	2. Vision Transfer

Vader stared out the viewport, tracing the infuriating, dilapidated piece of garbage of a ship that had once again managed to escape him - this time, adding insult to injury, in full possession of his son. The encounter on Bespin had taken a disastrous turn, and for the umpteenth time over the past one hour, Vader asked himself how he could have prevented the loss. If he had only predicted his son's reaction better... reacted faster… reached out in time... But he hadn't, he didn't, and he couldn't make time turn back, so here he was, glaring at the fast shifting trajectory of his son's elusive whereabouts. At least the boy was still alive.

Vader stilled and reached inwards, letting the Force channel through him. The shrine where his child's warm glow normally slept now pulsated like a raw wound, the damage he had caused was painfully evident. Vader moved towards it, hesitant… His connection to Luke had grown stronger, and was firmly embedded in both their minds now - it had happened in that pure, painful instant of recognition from the boy, and Vader felt deep gratification. He could fully sense the despair and grief his son was radiating in shockwaves. The boy did not know how to shield himself, or had little willpower left. Vader placed a hand on the former headstone, which, he observed mechanically, had now suddenly morphed into the shape of a Nubian carved stone lantern. Luke's wisp of light had taken shelter inside, swirling wildly. Vader focused on it. "Luke…", he intoned slowly, trying to project mental calm with his reach.

The boy would see reason, he just needed to calm him down, and bring him safely in his custody. The wound erupted with a powerful stream of raw emotions, and Vadder suddenly felt a shard of something that resembled compassion lodge itself uncomfortably in his chest. He needed to try and soothe the boy, but he could not remember how, nor could he recall a proper feeling to summon for the occasion. He resolved to projecting a sense of power, security, and serenity to the child... Suddenly, the memory of Varykino sprung unbidden in his mind: the still lake reflecting a majestic mountainscape, the image very much accessible on the mental link he was extending to Luke. The orb of light paused its chaotic swirl, uncertain, and then sharply turned toward him in recognition. The first word from the boy echoed over the bond: "Father…"

Vader's projection on the link surged into a deep sense of satisfaction spilling into euphoria, which he had no time to conceal from the boy. The Sith lord had craved this form of address, apparently hoping to hear it from his son more than he ever cared to admit. After his feelings flooded the bond, a few too long moments of silence passed on his son's end, but then Vader's lapse of control was rewarded with a series of imagery from Luke - he saw a glimpse of the twin suns of Tatooine, from the viewscreen of a small ship, wheezing through the familiar rock formations in Beggar's canyon... He could sense the boy's joy at the flight, and then there was the image of a co-pilot, face features unclear, but it was a tall, older man, with eyes like Luke's, smiling… The truth hit him: this is how the boy had imagined him.. The ship breezed through the Stone Needle, Luke looking up to him for approval, grinning… Then another image, the boy, this time much younger, had fallen down, was hurt, and the same tall figure lifting him up high, speaking words of comfort… Then Luke, holding Anakin's lightsaber, full of pride and determination...

Luke was sharing some of his deepest, most precious and cherished imagery, and Vader was struck by the sincerity and longing hidden within. The Sith lord hesitated on whether to acknowledge what Luke had just projected, he was not certain that Luke even knew what he had revealed… but his hesitation caused the boy to shrink back in despair. He responded hurriedly: "Son…" The word filled him with a powerful sense of focus, and a long forgotten, blasphemous feeling of joy. With the full depth of will and authority he was capable of, Vader carefully projected his next words: "Come with me."

The images from Luke were now flowing too fast to make any coherent sense, and Vader sensed the boy felt confused, deceived and betrayed, but those particular feelings were not directed at him. Luke's resolve was weakening, he was engulfed in turmoil. It was clear that a very fundamental belief his son's worldview was built upon had just shattered in the most unpredictable, catastrophic way. Vader knew how to use this to his advantage, but what surfaced foremost in his mind was a simple desire to get his son safe and help him. Conflict and pain, pure and unadulterated, met him now on the other side of the bond. And before Vader had time to consider his next step, his mind was already sending the next image across the bond. He reacted and tried to stop it, but the memory had surfaced, and the boy saw bits and pieces of _Her_ , smiling, hand placed on the curved shape of precious life growing inside… "It is the happiest moment of my life."

Luke's end of the connection stilled. Vader, in control again, returned to the projection of authority and willpower: "Luke… It is your destiny."

Soon, finally, he would have the unruly child in his custody. The countless times his son had managed to elude capture had been frustrating and exasperating, yet he could not help but admire the boy's bravery and resolve, and for the first time in forever, he had a clear goal, and something worth fighting for. The boy needed his father, and he would be more than happy to oblige. Vader's triumph seeped over the bond as the tractor beam finally engaged, and the Millenium Falcon's engines whined helplessly in its grasp. The beam was quickly followed by an ion charge to knock out all power aboard the tin can of a vessel, and soon after the smaller ship lay helpless in the underbelly of the Executor.

"Admiral, prepare a boarding party.", intoned Vader. "I want **all of them** alive and uninjured, and I cannot underscore enough the depth of my displeasure should anyone be harmed before they come into my presence." The dark lord swirled to face Piett. "And take special care with the injured youth aboard."


	3. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Leia strode down the ramp of the Millenium Falcon, flanked by four stormtroopers, and a uniformed officer whose rank she had not taken care to note. In front of her walked Lando, hands cuffed behind his back, followed by Chewie, hands cuffed behind his head. After her was Luke, and she listened closely to the slightly uneven rhythm of his footsteps. Luke had received a conspicuously gentle treatment from the arresting party - an odd irregularity in imperial protocol for which she was grateful. The officer had even offered Luke support, which he refused, insisting on walking alone. Leia was worried that he would not make it to the end of the ramp, yet down they all went, and were swiftly lined up in front of a full "welcoming" committee: two squads of perfectly lined stormtroopers, blasters trained on their heads, six ranking officers, who examined them with a mix of scorn and curiosity (one being a fleet admiral, by the looks of his insignia), and in the middle of the assembly - the looming, menacing form of Darth Vader.

Leia stepped swiftly in front of Luke, preparing to deliver a scathing remark, when she felt Luke's hand on her shoulder, and he whispered quietly: "Don't…". Leia turned to him in surprise. He gave her a shy, sad smile, squeezed her shoulder gently, then let go and strode towards Vader. She took a step to intervene, but sensed a heavy feeling in the air, and stopped herself. She observed that not a single stormtrooper was pointing a blaster at Luke, nor moved to impede his approach. Chewie growled quietly, and Leia couldn't decide whether she detected more worry or sadness in his tone.

Luke stopped in front of Vader, let go of his maimed wrist, and squared his shoulders. His head was on level with Vader's chestplate, his clothes and boots were in tatters, he had visible injuries besides the obviously missing hand, and the fact that he was still standing was a monumental testament to her friend's singular stubbornness and strength of will. Leia felt another keen stab of compassion for him, which quickly morphed into hatred for Vader, with whom Luke seemed to be locked into some sort of a staring contest now. A few seconds later, Luke hung his head briefly, appeared to nod at the Sith Lord, then his shoulders sagged, and the defiance left his posture, giving way to exhaustion. Vader then sharply turned his attention towards the rest of the captives.

Leia straightened up, and pointed her chin at him. Luke remained behind, casting a series of weary looks between her and Vader. Leia's anger was ready to boil. She wanted to be rational, to try and negotiate somehow for Luke's and Chewie's release, but she had nothing to offer, except perhaps a theatrical, utterly convincing repentance at her very public execution. She doubted her ability to deliver such performance, but she would still bargain, and at least buy some time. She was keenly aware of just how astronomical the bounty on Luke's alive and uninjured head was, and that it was issued by Vader in his personal capacity, in addition to the official Imperial bounty. The Sith Lord's zeal in pursuit of her friend was very troublesome - there was something specifically about Luke that Vader was interested in besides his powers, or a mere desire for revenge, but she had not been able to put her finger on it. All in all, she knew that there was no use pretending that Luke was a simple one-shot-wonder farm boy caught with the wrong crowd at the wrong time.

While she was still scrambling for something half-convincing to say, Vader stopped, cast a brief glance towards Lando, a longer glance at Chewie, placed his hands on his hips, and fixed his full stare on her. What came out of his vocoder next, Leia was entirely unprepared for.  
"In exchange for his… albeit limited… cooperation, **_my son_** has pleaded for your release."  
The universe seemed to contract into a single needlepoint, which lodged itself between her eyes, and exploded. Vader had no wife, lover, or progeny of any kind known to the Empire, nor to the best intelligence efforts of the Alliance. The word "son" bounced around Leia's brain like a cloud of Alderaanian sting-bats, and she ducked sharply around Vader's form to peek at the uniformed officers, as if trying to spot said "son". She was only met with six greatly astonished expressions staring back at her, complete with several dropped jaws, one of them, she noted with grim satisfaction, belonging to the admiral himself. Several stormtroopers had lowered their blasters, while others shifted uncomfortably on their feet.  
"...and given this recent turn of events… ", Vader continued, unfazed, "I am inclined to indulge him."

Here, a few things happened at once. First the admiral, then the rest of the officers slowly shifted their attention, collective gaze converging on Luke. One more jaw dropped open. Chewie's angry growls echoed in the landing bay. Luke's eyes were desperately trying to catch Leia's, but she turned back to Vader, her voice coming out at a much higher pitch than intended:  
" ** _Yourwhonow?..._** "  
Vader placed his hands behind his back, and loomed over her.  
"Do not test my patience, your **terrorist** Highness. You heard me perfectly well. After your ship leaves the Executor, the codes to re-enable its hyperdrive and weapon systems will be transmitted to you. This is a one-time grant of leave offered to you by the Empire. I suggest that you take full advantage of it, and reevaluate your life choices. The next time I find you anywhere near a Rebellion operation, I will not be so forgiving."

Leia's own patience was summarily brought to an end.  
"Now _you_ back off!" She pointed a finger at Vader. The admiral visibly flinched. "Did you just use the words "son" and "cooperation" in the same sentence, _referring to Luke_? How _dare_ you… How _dare_ you _presume_!... Luke, this can't be true! It is simply not possible!"  
Luke was hurriedly trying to hobble over to them now. Vader stilled, and there was a lethal undercurrent in his voice when he spoke next:  
"I advise you to consider your tone very carefully from now on, Princess. And unless you are pining for an invitation to enjoy my personal brand of hospitality for a third time, I suggest you gather your companions and leave. Quickly."

"Stop it, both of you!" Luke had finally reached them. Leia looked at him pleadingly, she needed him to see through Vader's outrageous, incomprehensible ruse, but instead, the truth in his eyes struck her numb. She felt her world swirling around - fast, too fast to process and make sense of...

"Leia," implored Luke, "you need to go. Please."  
"No, Luke… This is _insane_... How can you trust him?... How can I leave you here?"  
"He will not be harmed," piped in Vader, then raised his voice so everyone could hear his next words. "I want to clear up any misgivings. My son, whom until very recently I believed dead, was stolen from me at birth. By the Jedi. They planned to train him, and use him as a weapon against me and the Empire. I've just made Luke Skywalker aware of our relationship on Bespin. He has not betrayed you, princess, nor your cause. He will not be interrogated for any information pertaining to the Rebellion. Any further contact between you will be severed. That is all."

"Please, Leia… Save yourself, go…" Luke hugged her, muttered something about Han, whispered reassurances that he would be okay… But Leia would not have any of that. She was **not** leaving him here. She shook her head, preparing to fight Vader with bare hands if she had to, the adrenaline was coursing through her, and consequences be damned.

Luke turned to Chewie, and quietly spoke a few words. Chewie's binders abruptly clanked to the ground, he gave Luke a mournful hug, then suddenly grabbed her, and unceremoniously carried her, ignoring all protests, back up the Millenium Falcon's ramp. Lando was quick to follow, while R2, who had somehow managed to disable the restraining bolt placed on him on the ship, was fervently rolling **down** the ramp, screeching. Vader motioned the stormtroopers off of R2, who then swiftly tried to attack him, but was immobilized with a single wave of the large gloved hand. The last thing Leia saw as the ramp was closing was Vader, placing said hand on Luke's shoulder. Several newly arrived medics swarmed over her forlorn friend, led him onto a hoverbed, and cut him out of her view.


	4. A Great Disturbance in the Order of Thin

This chapter describes the events in chapter 3 from Vader's point of view. Things will move Forward in the next chapter, I promise...The dialog between Luke and Vader here occurs entirely on their bond, and it's marked in _italic_.

Also, I wanted to say... Thank you so much for all your thoughtful comments, and the follows! It really inspires me to push forward with this story! (*bows*)

* * *

Five minutes had elapsed since the boarding party had entered the so-called "Millennium Falcon". There was nothing remotely elegant, predatory, or otherwise falcon-like about this ship, Vader's stray thoughts supplied in the form of a useless observation, and he welcomed the diversion. The minutes dragged like hours, and other than sensing that Luke was conscious and in pain, he was blind to what exactly was transpiring up there. He loathed the feeling.

Finally, shadows crept down the ramp, and the first captive exited the ship. Calrissian. The wookie followed, and for a few seconds, Vader couldn't see around his large frame. Organa, he noted with dark satisfaction, came next. At last, he caught a glimpse of Luke - apparently still on his feet. Vader suppressed a sigh of relief before he even had a chance to process the feeling. His shields were firmly in place - this time, there would be no careless overspill of emotion on his end of the bond.

The escorting troopers lined up the captives in front of the ramp. His attention was on Skywalker alone.

 _"Luke…"_ he beckoned on their bond. Organa suddenly stepped in front of the boy, as if trying to shield him. Luke managed to persuade her to step aside, and then made his approach. The injured youth stopped in front of him, chin up, looking directly into his eyes - his entire posture screamed defiance. This should prove interesting. The Sith decided to make the overture.

 _"I am pleased to have you onboard, my son."_ Vader paused, and took in Luke's appearance fully. _"You need medical attention."_

Luke stared at him. His face was scraped and bruised, damp hair clinging to his forehead, yet Vader sensed no fear - only turmoil and reckless determination.

 _"My friends. What of their fate?"_

 _"I understand that you care a great deal about them… However, your friends are traitors and criminals, and they will face the consequences of their short-sighted actions."_

Luke shook his head.

 _"No. I will not surrender unless you let them go."_ The boy's impertinence rang through the bond. Vader's response was laced with dark amusement:

 _"Need I remind you that I already have you, Luke?"_

Luke was unperturbed. _"Yes, for the moment. You have me **alive**. But you can either keep me, or my friends."_

Vader bristled. There was implied danger lurking in Luke's thoughts that he did not like, not one single bit. Was the boy really threatening suicide? Of course, he had chosen to jump into oblivion instead of joining him only an hour ago…

 _"What are you insinuating?"_ he boomed, pressing on Luke's shields. He did not want to appear to give in so easily, yet the plan was already taking form in his head. As a show of goodwill, he would let Chewbacca and Calrissian go. He would ship off Luke and Organa to his stronghold on Mustafar. He would find reasons to stall the inevitable meeting with the Emperor. Luke's identity would be kept well hidden until his training was complete. And, he would make it abundantly clear to the boy that Organa would be the one to get punished tenfold for any of his own transgressions, including loss of life. With Organa's well being on the line, he was confident that Luke would quickly shift into a "Yes, Sir" routine.

Luke's mask of stoicism was visibly cracking now. He grimaced in pain, and there was a desperate plea in his eyes as he addressed him next.

 **"Father, please… "** The Sith Lord stilled. _"I will stay of my free will if you let them go."_

"Of his own free will…", the promise echoed in Vader's head, and his thoughts reeled. Suddenly, this was a very tempting prospect, something he had not considered. He probed the boy, and sensed the sincerity of his words. A sincerity which flowed from the idealistic, stubborn, unquestionable integrity at the core of his character - a combination of traits that was all too doomed, all too rare, all too familiar... and all too painful to recall. Just like the small birthmark on the boy's right cheek, it all pointed to… Vader instantly shut down that line of thought, and re-focused. So… Luke had promised to remain, and call him "Father", of his own free will.

 _"You will join me, let me train you, and stay by my side?"_

 _"I will stay by your side."_

Vader carefully noted the two omissions, but he would address them later.

 _"No sabotage, espionage, nor any escape attempts?"_

Luke nodded his agreement, and Vader felt precious truth extended on the bond once again. The Sith Lord made a decision.

He walked over to the captives. Calrissian was a nuisance whose fate was beneath his concern. Chewbacca, Solo's mate, had several bounties on his head for smuggling and treason. In the grand scheme of things, his freedom would not present a great loss to the Empire. Finally, Vader's gaze settled on the terrorist Princess - Leia Organa.

Troublesome as always, she had the gall to make a show of insolence with both her posture and expression. It was quite difficult for him to simply let her go. Organa's actions of high treason aside, there was something about the girl that greatly confounded him, as if the Force chose to move around her in peculiar ways, and purposefully muddle his senses. On the Death Star, her resistance to the mind probe alone had given rise to his suspicion that she might be Force sensitive, but he had not gotten a chance to investigate further. Vader kept staring the Princess down, and as she was about to speak, he pre-empted her:

"In exchange for his… albeit limited… cooperation, **my son** has pleaded for your release."

Her completely stunned expression filled him with pure satisfaction - it almost drowned out the shockwaves of surprise rolling over him from the other beings nearby. So, Luke had not had a chance to tell her yet...

"...and given this recent turn of events… ", he continued, his voice carefully controlled, "I am inclined to indulge him."

The Princess' expression shifted from shock, to disbelief, to anger, then back to shock… She swerved to look around him, perhaps trying to catch Luke's attention. He was not certain whether she succeeded - her voice came out as a squeak next:

 **"Yourwhonow?..."**

Vader placed hands behind his back, and loomed over her.

"Do not test my patience, your **terrorist** Highness. You heard me perfectly well. After your ship leaves the Executor, the codes to re-enable its hyperdrive and weapon systems will be transmitted to you. This is a one-time grant of leave offered to you by the Empire. I suggest that you take full advantage of it, and reevaluate your life choices. The next time I find you anywhere near an operation involving the Rebellion, I will not be so forgiving."

Organa was clearly not swayed by his offer.

"Now you back off!" She actually raised a finger at him. "Did you just use the words _"son"_ and _"cooperation"_ in the same sentence, _referring to Luke_? How _dare_ you… How dare you _presume_!... She shifted her address towards Luke:

"Luke, this can't be true! It is simply not possible!"

And somehow, she stumbled across the exact same words of denial and rejection he had endured from his son only an hour ago. His patience was brought to an end.

"I advise you to consider your tone very carefully from now on, Princess," Vader bit out with a clear threat in his voice, "And unless you are pining for an invitation to enjoy my personal brand of hospitality for a third time, I suggest you gather your companions and leave. Quickly."

"Stop it, both of you!" He turned to find Luke standing beside him, hunched over, holding the maimed arm close to his body. Whatever strength the child had left was fading quickly.

"Leia," his son intoned with urgency, "you need to go. Please."

"No, Luke… This is insane... How can you trust him?... How can I leave you here?"

He sensed Organa's sharp alarm about her friend. Apparently, she greatly cared about Luke. Perhaps he needed to clarify a few things for her, and the rest of the party.

"He will not be harmed." Vader raised his voice. "I want to clear up any misgivings. My son, whom until very recently I believed dead, was kidnapped from me at birth. By the Jedi. They planned to train him, and use him as a weapon against me and the Empire. Luke Skywalker was just made aware of our relationship on Bespin. He has not betrayed you, princess, nor your cause. He will not be interrogated for any information pertaining to the Rebellion. Any further contact between you will be severed. That is all."

Finally, the truth - it was painful, beautiful, and it set him free… Let the universe deal with the implications. Vader felt only triumph.

"Please, Leia… Save yourself, go…" Luke hugged the princess with one hand, whispering something. But Organa's expression remained unchanged. She shook her head, and balled her bound hands into fists. This was not going to end well…

Then Luke turned to Chewbacca, and quietly spoke a few words. The Sith caught onto his son's expression, and understood. With a small wave, he released the wookie's binders. Solo's companion seemed to understand too. He gave Luke a hug, then suddenly grabbed Organa, and carried her back towards the pile of garbage Solo called a ship. Her protests rang loud, but the wookie did not waiver, and she could not free herself from his grasp. Calrissian did not waste time, and briskly followed the duo.

Suddenly, Vader noticed an astromech rolling down the ship's ramp, his shrill binary echoing through the hangar bay. Vader recognized him instantly, and motioned the stormtroopers off R2, who then tried to attack him. The Sith shut him off with another wave of his hand. Today was indeed developing into one of the best days Vader could remember.

Finally, the medics brought a hover bed for Luke. The boy looked as if he was awaiting to be led to his execution. But the Sith Lord could glimpse the future - the Force had willed for father and son to be reunited, and together, they would be unstoppable… Luke would come to terms with his destiny, he would make sure of that. The Sith Lord placed a hand on his son's shoulder to steady him. Dramatic bravado aside, his son could use the support.

 _"Do not despair, young one. All will be set right"._ The Force swirled protectively around Luke, who lost his tenuous grip on consciousness as the medics lowered him on the hover bed. Vader instructed admiral Piett to ensure the Falcon's swift passage out of the Executor, ordered R2 delivered to his quarters, dismissed the rest of the imperials without a word, and followed the medics out of the hangar bay.

There would be no doubt a reckoning for his bold actions today. He slowly clenched both hands into fists. He was **eager** to welcome it.


	5. Fallout

Chapter notes:

A response to "some hat trick"'s comment from the previous chapter: You hit the nail on the head! I can't begin to explain how much I agree with everything you said about Palpatine and Vader's relationship. It is my goal in this fic to explore it from a slightly different angle, and give its complexity due respect and attention! There is definitely a lot more buried there than the simple Sith master/apprentice "social construct"... I mean, one only has to look (everywhere) in canon (even recent canon) to find that Palpatine used to call Anakin/Vader "son", and "my boy" at every possible occasion. In my mind, he was a strong father figure to Anakin, while Obi-Wan was more of a "brother" and a "teacher". One might argue that this was simple grooming on Palpatine's part, but I think there are deep paternal/filial feelings buried there on both sides, and while severely distorted and messed up, they can't be simply tossed away.

Again, thank you everyone for the thoughtful reviews and comments, it means a lot and keeps me motivated!

* * *

Emperor Palpatine, Dark Lord of the Sith and Supreme Ruler of the Galaxy, did not take surprises lightly. The Force had bestowed upon him the rare gift of foresight, and there were precious few things left in existence which possessed any latent potential to surprise _him_. He took great pride in that fact, and even greater care to maintain the status quo. And so it came to be, that even before Rhaneé had crossed the shrine's threshold to interrupt his meditation, His Highness had already felt the not-so-subtle shift in the ever-flowing currents of the Force. He had also formed a reasonably accurate idea about its cause.

"My Emperor,… " began Rhaneé with a deep bow, "there are news you should be made aware of." The gaunt attendant lifted his head, seeking permission to continue speaking so unannounced. The Emperor had previously glimpsed bits and pieces of what had transpired over the clouds of… Bespin, was it? His apprentice had been successful… yet something was grandly amiss. He waved at Rhaneé to continue.

"Lord Vader has claimed a known rebel, one named Skywalker, as his **son** , Your Highness. There are rumors that this is none other than the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, and even within our highest circles, the whispers are getting loud. Rogue HoloNet channels are spreading stories like wildfire... " Rhaneé paused, then added hesitantly: "Perhaps... we should consider a formal response, Sire?… "

The Emperor's eyes narrowed. He brought up a hand to his face, and stroked his chin for several heartbeats.

"I see, …" he drawled out. "Do not fret, Rhaneé, for respond we shall. Most certainly."

His personal comm chose this very moment to go off. There were only three beings in the Galaxy who had access to this particular frequency. His Highness hoped, for the sake of his apprentice, that he was the one making this call. The Emperor raised a finger, and the holoprojector obediently buzzed to life. In the shroud of blue light, the stark figure of his greatest investment and accomplishment took form, knee bent, head held in respectful bow.

"Greetings, my Master… "

Palpatine waved Rhaneé off, then turned his full attention on the wayward Sith.

"Lord Vader… " slowly intoned His Highness. "I hear you have acted very rashly."

"How so, Master?," his apprentice countered with feigned surprise, and several hidden underlays of the "no matter how rashly you think I've acted, it's actually worse" variety. Palpatine had known this tone of voice since Vader was a little boy.

"How so, Apprentice? One would have thought that you might have consulted me, before such far-reaching revelations were made public. Don't you think it was a bit too early to reveal the existence of your errant son to the entire galaxy?"

" **No**. It was twenty years too late, Master."

Vader rarely took such openly impudent tone with him, and this time it was infused with more than a casual hint of blame. Palpatine was taken back a little.

"You forget yourself, Lord Vader," he cautioned coldly.

"I fail to understand your reaction, Master. Exposing his ties to us was the only way to effectively cut him off from the Rebellion, and his _friends_. Now, he stands alone - vulnerable, and open to our influence."

Palpatine lifted his chin in consideration. Vader's motivation, so presented, was not entirely without merit. He sensed great threat in this development, but an even greater potential.

"Yes… Perhaps this turn of events can be salvaged, and put to good use after all. Can you ensure his loyalty?"

"I will ensure his cooperation." There was a cold, hard edge to Vader's voice. The Emperor found it pleasing. He remained still for a few moments, then spread his hands in a sweeping gesture of forgiveness.

"What is done is done, Lord Vader. I will handle the fallout with the HoloNet. Your son's rebellious past is hereby forgiven, and he is welcomed to the fold of the Empire, with all duty and privilege entailed therein. I wish to see him as soon as you get him to Coruscant."

It was Vader's turn to be taken back. _Yes, let him think that it was all that easy._ His Highness was suddenly curious whether this act of magnanimity would sway Vader to momentarily let his guard down. His apprentice did not. The Emperor smiled at him appreciatively.

"My son is injured, Master." Vader's tone had changed to one of respectful reverence, but his shields remained impenetrable. More so than usual. "He lays unconscious as we speak. And he will need some time to adjust to his new position. _I_ need some time with him, to prepare him for what is to come."

Palpatine again felt open danger in the possible implications of Vader's words.

"Are you sure that you are up to the task alone, Lord Vader?"

"I am sure, my Master."

He stared at his apprentice's inscrutable mask for a few long moments. Vader returned his gaze utterly still.

"Indeed… I sense that he harbors a great filial attachment, regardless of what has transpired between you. Use it well... " The Emperor took another few moments to observe his apprentice, who chose to remain silent, then went on, "The boy is not well trained. You may instruct him in the basics, but you are not to initiate him in any Sith lore. That privilege will fall to me alone."

"As you wish, Master."

"You have six weeks. You will keep me regularly updated on his progress. For Empire day, he is to accompany you at court, here, on Coruscant. By then, I shall expect him to conduct himself in a manner befitting his position within the Empire. And, if memory serves me right, he should be reaching his majority precisely around that time... " the Emperor paused, and smiled at the memory of the days surrounding Amidala's death, conjoined with the birth of his Empire. "It would bring me immense pleasure to introduce him as our heir at the event. It would be a _grand_ cause for celebration, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Master," Vader responded gravely.

"One last thing, Lord Vader. What is the boy's name?"

The Sith Lord's voice took an unnaturally even cadence as he ground out the answer.

"His name is Luke."

"And does _Luke_ take after you, or is he more his mother's son?"

Vader's breath seemed to catch for a second.

"He is his father's son."

Palpatine raised hands in front of his chest, and steepled his fingers.

"Then you should know what to do."

His voice came out cold and quiet, as a whisper from a deep, empty grave. Vader bowed his head in acceptance, but did not speak. The Emperor cut the connection. The game was on, and the stakes - worthy of his personal involvement. Palpatine did not forget for an instant that regardless of what his father seemed to suggest, this boy was not only Vader's son, but Amidala's, as well. And no matter how strong the Chosen One was in the Force, when it came to political acumen, eloquence, and swaying power, his wife had been an unparalleled prodigy. On occasion, even Palpatine himself had not been immune to her dangerously disarming charm. It was deeply unfortunate that these qualities had been blighted by her absurd cling to idealism.

Depending on how the Force had seen fit to arrange the pieces of the grand puzzle that was now called Luke Skywalker, her son could turn out to be an invaluable game piece... or a formidable threat. Presently, only one thing was certain about Skywalker: the debris field over Yavin IV bore testament to the boy's proclivity to wreak havoc in the Galaxy, a "gift" he had most certainly inherited from his father. The extent to which this proclivity could be harnessed and controlled remained yet to be ascertained.

The Emperor stared out into the hypnotizing skies of Coruscant. Shadows danced on the walls of his chamber, and his mind danced with them. Indeed, the currents had shifted. He had to navigate his path carefully, but the possibilities were thrilling. After all these years, his greatest deed may yet to be recorded in Galactic History.

His Highness pensively walked over to his adjoining sitting room, and summoned Rhaneé.

"Reach out to our contact on Dathomir… I wish to speak to the Witch."

Luke was soaring high over a mountain range, arms spread wide, wind gently ruffling his hair. The snowy peaks below were glimmering, awash in the soft light of dawn, sprinkled with fluffy clouds - pink and orange and purple, like wads of cotton candy. He closed his eyes, and eagerly inhaled the crisp, fresh air. It carried a faint scent of desert blossoms, kissed by the morning dew. Luke felt healthy and whole, his body drawing strength with each breath. He reopened his eyes, and there it was in the distance, the lake he was searching for… imposing, snow-capped mountain tops reflecting on its still surface… but where had he seen this image before?… Luke tried to remember, yet the memory refused to come.

Suddenly, inky clouds rose ominously on the horizon, and he realized with a sense of urgency that he had to reach the lake before they got to him, before it was too late… Luke flew faster, as fast as his arms could carry him. The clouds darkened the sky, dawn colors all but gone from the craggy peaks, and he was overtaken by fear - he was probably not going to make it. The wind whipped his face with chilly tendrils now, cold and merciless. The gathered darkness formed into a black storm, and dashed towards him with terrifying speed. He tried to swerve from its path, but it predicted his every movement, attacking him with shards of ice that he was barely able to avoid… until one blade found him, slashed into his wrist, and it burned, he was blinded, his entire being engulfed in a flash of pain - his hand, it wasn't there, it was **gone** … Luke cried out, lost his balance, couldn't fly anymore… he realized that he could never fly again. He fell, spinning, down and down, into a pit of pure sorrow. He tried to scream, yet his own voice could not cut through the waves of anguish pressing on him. Then, the darkness spread around him like a black cloak, and caught him, easing his fall, trying to lull him to rest, to sleep, to surrender... **No**.

Luke's consciousness stirred, and slowly made its way back to reality. He became aware that he was lying someplace comfortable, and felt no immediate pain. Still caught in the throes of the dream, heart racing, he lifted a hand to his face, and felt dampness on his cheek. Then, the memory of Bespin slammed into his mind full-force. Luke curled his body, teeth clenched, hands balling into fists... Perhaps, he hoped desperately, the whole thing had been one evil nightmare, and if he were to slowly open his eyes, he would find himself in Master Yoda's hut, and everything would be as it should… After all, he had just felt wet tears with his right hand, and he could sense all fingers!

Luke sat up with a start, eager to take in his surroundings. He felt dizzy, and once his eyes adjusted to the low light, he came round to a room that was decidedly not Master Yoda's, and a reality where all his dreams and hopes seemed irrevocably shattered.

The youth found himself on a large bed, set in a comfortably sized room with austere grey walls and minimalist furniture. The space was dominated by three grand trapezoid viewports, which offered a generous view of the vast starfield outside. This particular viewport configuration, Luke knew, could only be found embedded in the hull of the latest line of Imperial star destroyers - the ones produced by Kuat Drive Yards. In fact, he thought with growing despair, in all likelihood he was (still) on the dreaded flagship of his very Imperial **Father** … No. It just, _still_ , didn't make sense… He lifted his right hand, grasping for straws. The movement in his fingers felt just a bit off though, and when he examined his wrist closely, he spotted a thin scar. Luke felt all air knocked out of his lungs.

So, it was true then… it was no nightmare… there was no escape… The beings he had held in highest regard had lied to him, and the person he had despised most… well...

The pit of sorrow was opening once again around him, and before Luke had a chance to grasp for breath again, he heard the soft chime of the door.

He suddenly became very aware of Vader's presence nearby, yet he knew it was not the Sith Lord who was coming for a visit. The last thing he wanted was to see or speak with anyone _else_. He needed time to process this, to make sense of it, to try to cope with it…

The chime rang again. When he didn't answer, the door slid open, and a tall, middle-aged woman entered the space, followed by a younger red-haired man, and a droid, steering a hover table with medical equipment. Both humans were wearing light grey lab coats, with a hexagon-shaped insignia on their right shoulders, which, if Luke remembered correctly, belonged to some kind of research organization within the Empire. Luke quickly wiped off any trace of tears from his face, and focused all effort on composing himself. He would just have to try and take this one tiny step at a time...

The woman was staring at him with undisguised curiosity.

"Please forgive the intrusion, my lord", she began, and Luke winced at her absurd form of address. She came closer, but stopped at a respectful distance from his bed. "I am Dr. Soujanen", she paused, and pointed to the younger man, "and this is Dr. Nivvosh, my assistant." The man made a short bow in greeting. The whole encounter seemed surreal, as if Luke was observing some circus from far away. "We are here to check on your condition. How are you feeling?"

The youth didn't really have an answer. He suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed, half-reclining on the bed, so he swung his legs over, attempting to stand up.

"Please, try not to move too much before I examine you. You went through a little bit of an ordeal, and you need to be patient, so we can take care of you and restore you to full health."

" _A bit of an ordeal_ ", Luke grimaced… " _I guess that's one way of putting it…_ " His attempt to get up left him dizzy again - perhaps he was still under the effect of some drug. He settled for sitting at the edge of the bed instead. He had apparently undergone a change of attire while unconscious, and was now clad in a simply cut, dark colored set of loungewear. At least he was not naked.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Was there concern in her voice now?... Luke had no desire whatsoever to dwell publicly on what he remembered last. However, he sensed that this doctor was treating him with what he wanted to believe was genuine concern, so he decided that it was perhaps time to offer some sort of response, and alleviate her blooming fears for his sanity. He looked into her eyes, and spoke with as much composure as he could manage:

"I am fine, Doctor." His voice came out hoarse and quiet, and the words rang ridiculous in his own head. She scanned him carefully again. Her drawn face, framed by a no-nonsense cut of wavy, greying hair, relaxed slightly. She even ventured to offer a tiny smile.

"Well, let me be the judge of that, sir. Now that you are awake, I would like to assess how you are healing, and to fine-tune the neurological interface of your new prosthetic hand."

Ah… At least that cleared up the hand question… But the "my lord" and "sir" nonsense had to stop. He would have been more comfortable had he woken up in a cell, and treated accordingly.

"My name is Luke."

For the first time in his life, he had no wish to proudly add "Skywalker". His own surname felt like clumps of sand on his lips.

"We know, sir" she responded patiently. Luke sighed.

"I mean… you can call me Luke."

"That would be highly inappropriate." The doctor's face remained solemn, yet the twinkle of curiosity returned to her eyes. Luke's mouth dropped open in another attempt to protest, but she went on:

"I want to personally apologize that your wishes in this matter were not considered, but in order to maximize neuroregeneration, we had to select a treatment plan for your injury rather quickly. Your Father of course was briefed on all details, and approved of the final decision."

She paused, apparently examining him for any reaction. Luke's mouth slammed shut, and he tried hard not to grind his teeth. _His Father, who had… nevermind..._

"Your prosthetic hand was crafted to specification, and delivered from our finest research facilities on Coruscant in record time.", the doctor continued with an overly satisfied tone. "Meanwhile, we treated several fractured ribs, a fractured humerus, one laceration, and multiple contusions and abrasions. You have undergone several restorative sessions in a bacta tank."

" _And, I've been under all this time"_ , thought Luke.

"How long was I out?", he asked.

"Approximately 78 standard hours."

"And where am I?"

"You are on the SSD Executor, en route to Lord Vader's castle on Mustafar." Luke had no knowledge of Mustafar, but the name hit him with a dark foreboding. He took a deep breath, and realized that his hands were once more balled into fists on his thighs. He slowly relaxed them.

"With your permission, I am going to attach the neural links to your temples now. Then, we will fine-tune the neuronal and muscle binding interfaces between your arm and the prosthetic." Luke nodded. He wanted to get this over with, and quickly.

"Dr. Nivvosh will provide some tactile stimuli to both your hands. The whole procedure should take less than five minutes. If you feel discomfort at any time, please inform us immediately."

Nivvosh, who had kept quietly behind until this moment, came closer, cast a fleeting glance at Luke's face, then focused his attention on the set of instruments at the table in front of him, which were getting swiftly arranged by the droid.

"If you would extend your left hand here, sir…," the man's accent was pure Core. Luke obliged him. For the next minute, he was poked and prodded with various tools and devices, which he figured triggered just the right responses in his brain that Dr. Soujanen wanted to observe. She was painstakingly tracking the data on her pad.

"Now, your right hand, please."

Luke obeyed, trying to keep his mind on the procedure. Dr. Nivvosh began the same sequence of pokes and prods as before, but this time, leaving a notable pause after each turn for Dr. Soujanen to make adjustments to the interface, until the neurological responses between the two hands matched. Or, so went Luke's theory. He was wondering just how many guards were posted outside his door despite the very cordial treatment he had received so far, when the next poke triggered a sharp stab of pain in his palm. Luke gasped, his fingers twitching involuntary. Dr Nivvosh's hand visibly shook, he dropped his instrument, and it promptly landed on Luke's extended palm. The doctor's eyes were large, and he whispered, barely daring to look up at him:

"I am sorry, my lord…"

Luke could feel that the man was terrified, as if expecting swift retribution for the littlest mistake. _No need to wonder why_ , Luke conceded grimly. _He expects me to act my father's son_.

"I am no lord!" he snapped in anger, and instantly regretted it. Nivvosh lowered his gaze and remained still. Luke closed his eyes for a few moments, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself. "It's okay, Doctor. No harm done. Please, go ahead…" He held out the tool to the man, and tried to force a smile. The doctor swallowed hard, glanced at him again, muttered another apology, then finally went on with his task. Luke could swear he could sense the great effort the man was expending just to keep his hand steady.

Was this to be his new reality now?... Getting addressed as "my lord" and "sir", by beings who walked on eggshells around him?... But he was his father's son, wasn't he... He had it inside him - the anger, the darkness… The Empire knew, and the Alliance now knew as well… Obi-Wan had probably seen it a long time ago, that's why he had never tried to train him, all those years on Tatooine… The voices of Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru and Master Yoda echoed the same words in his mind: "so much like his father"... Even the Force itself had judged exactly what would become of him, in the cave… **No**.

Luke winced and broke away from this chain of thought. He looked up at the older doctor, who appeared to be staring at him in contemplation. She swiftly returned to her datapad.

When the calibration procedure was finally over, Dr. Soujanen pulled out a scanner, and ran it over his right wrist several times, then over his head and upper body. Finally, the ordeal seemed to be over. She looked up at him, and proclaimed with visible satisfaction:

"Based on my current assessment, your injuries are healing very well, and you will soon be back to normal, **physically**."

"… _physically_ ", Luke's thoughts echoed.

"However, you may still feel a bit weak, and need _rest_ in order to speed up your recovery. For the next week, you are to refrain from any activity that puts even moderate strain on your right wrist. I will appraise Lord Vader of my findings."

Luke suddenly felt like he was being treated like a child. He stood up.

"I wish to be alone now, doctor." Dr Soujanen looked at him in silence for a few seconds, then nodded:

"As you say, sir. Should you need anything, my frequency has been added to your comm." She pointed at a small device on the table next to his bed. "Do take ample time to rest. Someone will come by with your supper shortly. I leave you in the capable hands of Khabarakh now."

Luke had no idea who Khabarakh was, and didn't care. He kept staring at the doctor without response. Soujanen got the hint, nodded at him respectfully, then turned to leave with Nivvosh, who was already standing by the door.

"Doctor…," called out Luke, when the group was just about to exit. The humans stopped, and turned back to face him. Luke straightened up.

"Thank you, both…"

He nodded his gratitude to the droid as well. The doctors nodded in acknowledgement, their expressions softened, and Luke again saw the half-smile on Soujanen's face. As soon as the trio left, another being entered his room, of a species Luke had never seen before.

"I am Khabarakh," it proclaimed solemnly, "I serve your Father, and now I guard you, with my life."

The surreal circus was continuing to unfold in full swing, thought Luke. His brain had stopped keeping tabs on reality, and just accepted things without doing much processing at the moment.

"Your Father is awaiting your presence. I shall bring you to him, when you are ready. You need nourishment first." Khabarakh stepped aside to let yet another droid enter with a large tray arranged with various utensils, vessels, and crowned with a shiny dome. "I shall wait outside."

The droid placed the tray on a table, then left, followed by Khabarakh. Luke finally found himself alone. He walked by the viewports, and let his forehead rest on the cold transparisteel, eyes closed. The feeling was sobering. Everyone would treat him differently now, he was evidently already made part of the Empire. He had promised Vader not to attempt escape, but even if he could escape, there was no going back to the Rebellion. Perhaps he should not fight this, and he should just join his father... It would be so easy, so simple… His Father… whom Luke had longed for all his life, and practically revered… It was cruel of Obi-Wan to tell such a lie about Vader, and unfair… Vader seemed to care for Luke, but was it only as a tool?… " _Just like Obi-Wan and Yoda_ ," Luke thought bitterly, _"everyone sees me only as means to an end..."_

His fists slammed on the durasteel, but shortly after, he stepped back. No, he would not let despair overtake him. He would not forget who he was. He would not forget his friends, nor what they fought for. He was going to get himself together, get cleaned up, get dressed, and face Vader.

His father, Anakin Skywalker, had been a great Jedi. He had been, by the accounts of many, a good man as well, and by the accounts of few, a dear friend. Luke remembered glimpses of images and feelings which had escaped Vader on their bond. His mind suddenly conjured a vision of a woman, beautiful and kind, like an angel… His mother, this is how Vader remembered Luke's mother - Luke was certain of it. There _was_ good in him... Whatever had happened to his father to turn him into Darth Vader, Luke vowed to find out. And, he would bring Anakin back.

Luke felt a semblance of peace come over him for the first time since the Force vision on Dagobah. Half an hour later, he marched to Vader's chamber next to Khabarakh. The guard entered a code, and the heavy double doors slowly hissed apart. Luke took a deep breath, and stepped inside.


	6. The Sleeping Dragon

Luke's footsteps echoed through the void of a spacious but somber hall. Its black duracrete floors were polished to a shine, and an array of selenium sconces cast the tall, stark walls in a dim glow. The chamber's size was exorbitant for starship quarters, yet it was void of any furnishings save for a large, spherical pod, which stood imposing in its center. White light spilled eerily through the jagged ridges of something resembling a closing mechanism, and Luke couldn't help but wonder about its purpose. A faint trace of antiseptic permeated the air. Every surface appeared sterile. Not one thing in these quarters looked welcoming. Soon he came to a stop, and resisted the urge to wrap arms around his torso for warmth.

Heavy silence reigned in the space with distant apathy. Now that Luke's footsteps were hushed, the steady rasp of Vader's respirator was the only sound bold enough to cut through it. Luke spotted the Sith himself standing by another expansive set of viewports across the pod, hands clasped behind his back, staring out into space. The sight filled him with familiar dread - he had to remind himself that circumstances had changed, yet that only served to increase his anxiety of the meeting. Surreptitiously, Luke took a deep breath to steady his heartbeat. He forced a calm expression on his face, curled fingers around the sleeves of his jacket, and squared his shoulders. The tall man, aware of his presence, slowly turned around.

"Luke…"

The youth could sense that there were more words planned to follow this greeting, but they never came. His given name, spoken out loud with such familiarity by Darth Vader, unnerved him. Luke had not yet found an answer on how to address this man himself. He vividly remembered the word "father" slipping out, several times… He wished to both fight it and embrace it. Luke placed his own hands behind his back, gazed away, and remained silent.

"Come, my son… Let me look at you."

Apparently, Vader had no qualms about how to address _him_ … Luke hesitated, then reluctantly took a few steps towards the dark figure, trying to put his thoughts in order. First and foremost, he wanted to know whether Leia and Chewie had made it safely off the Executor, and what had happened with Artoo - he had this hazy memory of the droid remaining behind… As Luke took a breath to pose his question, Vader spoke again:

"You will be pleased to know that the Princess and her entourage safely entered hyperspace, and I presently have no inkling of their whereabouts."

Luke exhaled a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. _They were safe,_ _his father_ _Vader had kept his word._ Still, he could not bring himself to utter words of gratitude, so he simply looked up at the black mask, and nodded. Now, he only had Han to worry about...

The Sith Lord took a few steps forward, slowly raised a hand, and without further warning brought it up to Luke's face. The youth flinched in surprise, using all self control not to recoil. He frowned, jaw tight, as Vader lifted his chin to examine him. All he could do was focus on a bright star cluster above the dark figure's left shoulder, and keep his thoughts on Leia, Han and Chewie - certainly not on the apparent care of the hold on his face, nor on the familiar longing for his lost and idolized father which treacherously rose up in his chest. Luke dug fingernails into his palms, his cheeks growing hot, his throat suddenly constricting. He **could not, would not** let tears escape now, that would be unthinkable… _Focus on the pain in your palms… both palms… they hurt just the same… and that is a good thing…_

The touch of the gloved hand lingered a bit longer, then Vader let go of his face, and spoke in a satisfied tone:

"Your wounds have healed well… " he took a step back, then added, "I have also been informed that your prosthetic hand will prove more than an adequate replacement."

The memory of the brutal injury Luke had endured at the hands of this man, who just now seemed to carelessly brush it off, crashed over him. He raised his right hand, still balled into a fist, and pointed the back of the prosthetic at Vader.

"There is **no** 'adequate' replacement!" Luke exclaimed, with more feeling than he intended to show… But it was pointless, arguing with Vader was pointless, showing him how deeply he'd hurt him was of no use... and revealing just how vulnerable he felt at this moment was plain dangerous.

"You are not wrong…" Vader avowed, hesitantly. "Perhaps I did not choose the right approach with you on Bespin."

Luke's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. His right hand dropped back down. He waited a few moments for Vader to continue this line of thought, but to no avail. _Fine..._

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why fight me for so long?" his voice cracked. Luke chided himself for it.

"I had assumed that you know, Luke! After all, Kenobi has had you in his clutches all your life! I could not begin to fathom that he would withhold the truth, when it would have served his cause so perfectly..."

Vader's tone was controlled, but dense with loathing. He placed hands behind his back, and went on:

"After our encounter on Cymoon I, I could only guess that he had fed you one of his signature half-truths: that by becoming Darth Vader, I had metaphorically murdered your father… It appears he chose to deceive you entirely instead. I will let you ponder his reasons for yourself." Vader paused, gazing above Luke's head for a moment, then ground out:

"Obi-Wan's betrayal defies words… "

Vader brought up his right hand, slowly coiling into a fist. The motion was eerily familiar, and Luke took a step back. Yet Obi-Wan _had_ lied to him, and not just with the intent to protect his sentiments from the truth. The realization, once again, stung.

"I should have recognized you on Cymoon I," Vader continued, "but I was blinded by my own false beliefs on the matter."

"That I was dead?..." Luke's question was a mere whisper, but it was heard nevertheless.

"Yes, Luke. Moreover, I thought that I had lost a daughter, not a son..." Vader added thoughtfully.

Luke let his fists relax. _A daughter… Why would he think that? Does this mean that he was around my mother while she was pregnant?..._

"Um… when did you find out?"

"Shortly after Cymoon I… " Vader paused. His line of sight wandered to someplace over the top of Luke's head, and his voice went low.

"Had I known of your existence, I would have come for you. You would have grown up with me - secure, protected, away from any want or strife. Instead, Kenobi condemned you to that cesspit Tatooine, and didn't even train you! Your potential in the Force - untapped, left to waste…" Vader's tone dripped with acid…

Luke tried to envision, for a few brief moments, what life with his father would have been like. A sheltered, plush existence in the shadow of the Empire's second-in-command? Or, more likely, a military school from the age of three, with a mandatory bonus Dark Side training?... Would Vader have shown any affection for him, ever spent any time with him? Would they have flown together?… He would have never known Aunt Beru, nor Uncle Owen… Never witnessed their deaths… His wandering attention was swiftly brought back to reality as his father turned abruptly to him.

"At least this one blasphemy I can still rectify!"

Ah, back to the "important" part - Luke's Force powers… Once more, he felt like a small pawn on a game board, shuffled around by Ben, Yoda, and now Vader, for true reasons unknown.

"And if I was born just a 'regular' child, what then?..." Luke choked out bitterly, "Would you have cared one bit for me?"

Vader's breath caught for a moment, as if the thought of an offspring of his not being born strong with the Force was ludicrous… Luke smirked.

"You are wrong," Vader's cold irritation rattled on that invisible bond. The next sentence came out quiet, but with steel finality.

"I would have cared for you no matter what, my son."

Luke reached out, and had to concede that Vader spoke the truth… again. It was comforting in more ways than he was willing to acknowledge. The youth tilted his head, and couldn't help the half smile that crept to his face. Hope rose within him, faster than he could rationally suppress it, and before he could even grasp exactly what he was hoping for, the next question materialized in his mind with crystal clarity. Luke tried to find the eyes behind the dark plastisteel lenses, and challenged:

"My Mother… Did you love her?"

"What?..."

Vader visibly flinched, then froze. Each second seemed to stretch like minutes in the void left behind by the silence of the respirator. Luke could suddenly see his own breath, coming out in wisps of white vapor, as the shadows in the room seemed brought to life, slowly creeping close as if to envelop them. Then, a blast of grief and despair were unleashed on the bond for a split instant. Luke gasped, and Vader shut himself off from him completely. It took the youth a few seconds to recover from the onslaught, raw shards of distorted, blurry emotions lodged like splinters in his mind. He exhaled sharply. _I will not back down... I need his answer..._

" **Did you love her?** " Luke forced resolve in his voice.

Vader remained completely still, planted like a dark monolith, the chill in the room now piercing Luke to the bone, and the loss of contact on the bond disorienting him even further. Finally, the Sith Lord's words escaped as a tortured whisper.

"I love her still."

Shock, then an euphoric idea sprang in Luke's head.

"She is alive?"

Vader abruptly turned away and faced the viewports. Luke's heart skipped several beats, but he felt his exuberance die even before the Sith Lord's grave reply.

"No."

The youth straightened up shakily, and ran fingers through his hair. His father still kept his end of the bond completely closed off. The silence reemerged heavy between them, but at least Vader seemed to be breathing again, and some semblance of warmth had returned to his own limbs.

Luke suddenly felt guilty for allowing himself to dream up such a hope... He sighed deeply, subconsciously rubbing his temples. _His feelings for my mother run deep and raw, and something happened to her… to both of them..._

"Who was she, Father?"

"Enough!" Vader turned to him sharply, his voice suddenly harsh. "You were summoned here because we have pressing matters to discuss, not to reminisce about the past!"

It was Luke's turn to flinch, but he kept the retort to himself. The menacing darkness which normally shrouded Vader's presence was back in full swing, and Luke realized belatedly that his father had presented differently in the Force at the beginning of their exchange, the cold rage somewhat subdued... He did not relish the current feeling. Vader approached him, and stopped within a short distance.

"Let's begin with the obvious. You have evidently received some instruction since Cymoon I. Who trained you? And that debacle on the Hutt's arena on Nar Shaddaa doesn't count."

Luke tensed up, and tried to slam his own connection to Vader shut. He feigned surprise.

"And _you_ apparently have tracked my every move since Cymoon I."

"Not _every_ move. Otherwise, I would not need to ask this question." Vader paused for a few seconds, and when he sensed that no reply was forthcoming, demanded in an agitated tone:

"Well?..."

Luke swallowed, then looked away.

"I can't tell you that."

The dark lord took a step forward, raising a finger at him.

"You can... And you will."

"I most certainly will not. And you said that I wouldn't be interrogated for any information about the Rebellion!"

Vader stilled, then his vocoder picked up something which sounded like a frustrated sigh.

"Indeed," he placed hands on his belt, "I will honor our agreement. No matter. The stray Jedi you are trying to protect is no longer of any consequence to us." Vader paused, then continued with a honeyed edge to his tone:

"It still baffles me that they would let you face me at your current level of training… Do they not value your life?"

"Perhaps I came regardless of their wishes!" Luke blurted out. The insult to his skills stung more than he wished to admit… but he immediately felt wary for letting any details about his training slip out at all.

Vader stared at him for several very long seconds, then ground out thoughtfully:

"I do not doubt that…"

" Well **, you** certainly gave me a very strong motivation!", exclaimed Luke. He realized that Vader has probably kept a detailed record of his visits to Cymoon I, Nar Shaddaa, Vrogas Vas… and perhaps other "adventures" Luke rather wished Vader didn't know about at all. At least the Sith seemed off Yoda's trail for the moment… Luke allowed himself to take a few slow breaths again, but the heaviness in his chest only grew as his father continued:

"Yes, I have come to understand that you care a great deal about your friends… A weakness I successfully exploited."

"Caring for others is not a weakness. It is one's greatest test of character!" Luke proclaimed firmly.

"And given your current situation... Do you believe you have passed?"

Vader's baritone sounded deceptively calm, but the edgy mirth to it was unmistakable. Luke swallowed. He lost a few seconds searching for a response, yet before he could find one, Vader continued:

"By now, you must have realized that there is no longer a place for you in the Rebellion, **son** . My offer to you on Bespin was genuine, and you will soon take your rightful place within the Empire… by **my** side."

Luke remained silent, mesmerized by Vader's strength of conviction. The Sith went on:

"I must complete your training immediately. You are not to put strain to on your right wrist for a week, so I will have to accommodate for that… We will begin with shielding and mediation."

"Do I get any say in the matter at all?" Luke finally interjected, "And what type of training are you considering, since I won't use the Dark Side? Ever?"

Vader let go of his belt, and Luke couldn't help but follow the trajectory of his hands very closely.

" _You_ are an insolent one."

The dark figure moved closer, towering over Luke.

"Fortunately for you, after weighing the options, and given the time constraints… I have decided against taking you on as a Sith apprentice... At this time."

"Well, that's a relief," Luke retorted with no small hint of impudence. It gave Vader a pause, but it was thankfully ignored.

"You will simply be trained in the Force."

"You mean, as a Jedi?"

Vader raised a hand, finger pointed at him again.

"Do not test my patience, young one. I expect nothing short of your full obedience and cooperation in this matter!"

Luke crossed hands in front of his chest, and sighed. _Might as well go for the deep end._

"I look forward to learning more about the Force, Father. But instead of obedience, I would rather offer you my _respect_. And cooperation works both ways!" _And since when did the word "father" start coming so easily to me?..._

Vader dropped his hand, and stood silent as if rooted on the spot. Luke took the opportunity to add:

"And just so we are clear from the beginning… While I may support you against the Emperor, I have no wish to rule the Galaxy! I would rather see the Senate restored, and the Empire give way to a democratic form of government! You clearly have misgivings about Palpatine. Have you thought that by extending his legacy, you are just perpetuating the worst problem in this Galaxy?"

Vader kept staring. Finally, he bit out with irritation:

"This is **no** time to bicker about politics." He swirled around, and began pacing by the viewports.

"You must be on alert, and learn everything I have to teach you… We have very little time..."

Luke finally caught on to the urgency in Vader's tone, which seemed to revolve around some apparent notion of time rapidly running out on them.

"Why, what is happening?"

The tall man stopped his pacing, and faced Luke.

"The Emperor has pardoned you, and publicly embraced you in the fold of the Empire. You are now third in line to the throne. He plans to officially introduce you as such at the Empire Day Celebrations on Coruscant…"

Luke's shock kept him stunned for a few seconds.

"He… What?"

"We have six weeks, son. Whatever the Emperor's hidden intentions are, and I assure you, they do exist, we **must** be prepared."

Luke regained _some_ of his senses. He waived hands and sputtered:

"I will **not** be paraded around as an Imperial puppet on Coruscant!"

"Mind your attitude, young one, or being 'paraded around' will be the least of your concerns!" Vader's tone was becoming angrier by the second. "You must urgently understand that the Emperor is not one to be trifled with. Even I remain uncertain to the exact extent of his abilities... The timing is unfortunate. I can't both engineer a coup and train you to to face him in six short weeks, but I can hopefully prepare you well enough to survive what he has planned for that particular occasion. However... If you openly defy him on Coruscant, if you do not play your role exactly as he expects you to... your life may very well be forfeit. I **can't** take such a risk. **Do you understand?** "

Vader's tone had taken a dangerous turn, pressure seeping openly over their bond. Luke's shocked expression was probably not winning him any favors, yet still he could not bring himself to reply.

Vader approached to face him directly, mask looming over Luke's face.

" _ **Do you understand me, Luke?**_ "

Concern, urgency and barely subdued rage were now clearly radiating over to him. Luke knew exactly the answer his father expected. He almost caved under his authority and gave it to him.

"I understand, Father. But this would be a betrayal of everything the Alliance stands for! A giant slap in their face! **I won't do it** !"

Vader's hands were clenched into fists again, his anger reaching a tipping point. Luke braced himself for the backlash. But then, his father slowly placed hands behind his back, turned around, and ground out with openly implied threat in his voice:

"We shall see about that."

Luke remained silent. A minute or more passed like this, Vader staring out the viewports, his back to Luke. Luke sighed, straightened the edges of his jacket, and tried to break the ice.

"So...uh... I guess we will discuss politics _after_ six weeks then?"

Vader turned slowly towards him.

"If we are both still alive..." The Sith's voice was utterly calm, but Luke did not find it reassuring. "Your conduct on Coruscant, we will discuss much sooner."

 _Well, he had to edge in the last word…_ Still, Luke was able to grasp the definite concern over his well being seeping over on the bond. Without a solution to offer, he simply nodded in acknowledgement. Vader, in turn, seemed to appreciate the concession.

"In the meantime, you have free reign on the Executor."

To Luke's relief, it seemed like their fragile truce was restored for now. The Sith suddenly appeared to size him up and down.

"As long as you don't 'parade' yourself in your Rebel insignia on the Empire's flagship… Commander."

Luke had found several dark sets of clothing in his closet, including several Imperial-cut shirts and uniforms. Thankfully, a few of his own fatigues had apparently been plucked from his X-Wing, and offered as well. That is what he had chosen to wear. His father obviously referred to the Alliance rank badge sewn on his jacket pocket, over the Rogue Squadron logo. Well, the Sith certainly seemed zoomed in on the whole "parade" choice of words thing. Luke scowled, then suddenly remembered his ship.

"My X-Wing… Is it also here?" he asked, full of hope.

Vader's shoulders lifted briefly, then relaxed in something resembling a sigh.

"You were pardoned… Not so your ship, being the one which fired the shot on the Death Star… It has been dismantled, and its hull now hangs at a memorial on Coruscant."

Luke didn't need to ask what the memorial was for. His heart felt heavy, both from the loss of the ship, and the usual dread when his thoughts dwelled on the Death Star…

"However, I have something else for you," quipped Vader. Luke looked up slowly. Vader raised a hand, and a side door opened in one of the walls. A familiar astromech rolled out, noticed Luke, and shrieked excitedly.

"Artoo! I thought you left with Leia!"

R2 zoomed towards Luke, and gently bumped into his leg.

"I am happy to see you too, buddy! How are you?!"

R2 chirped, turned his eye to Vader, and made some exclamations which Luke had learned to interpret as plain rude.

"Your astromech is in same condition as when he came onboard, with the addition of a restraining bolt he can't so easily circumvent," Vader responded with dark familiarity, which left Luke bewildered.

"Yet his booster rockets seem to have been out of commission for a long time, and he does need a good cleaning," the Sith Lord continued, and Luke detected... reproach in his tone?

"Booster rockets? Wait a minute, do you even know Artoo?"

Vader remained silent. R2 answered with a short beep.

"Leave us, droid! Go wait in his rooms!" Vader spat out. R2 beeped some protests, but Luke gently tapped his dome, and implored:

"It's okay, Artoo - go…"

R2 beeped mournfully, but headed towards the entrance.

"Um... Thank you, for keeping him in once piece…"

"Believe me, I was very tempted to do otherwise."

Was that a shred of humor Luke detected in his father's tone? As crazy as it sounded, there was clearly some history between Vader and R2. Luke wondered when he would completely lose the ability to be surprised, at the rate things were progressing in his life.

"And… you know Artoo?"

"Our paths have crossed before."

 _Oh, this is definitely the tip of an iceberg,_ thought Luke. But he could sense that this was not the time to push for further answers. Perhaps the little droid would be more forthcoming.

Vader was suddenly back to business.

"You will report to me tomorrow at 7:00 sharp. Your training schedule will be somewhat chaotic, as I have other duties to attend to on the ship. Once we reach Mustafar, I will be able to focus on you fully."

Luke realized that he was being dismissed. And he also realized with no little surprise that he did not wish for it.

"Admiral Piett will be pleased to give you a tour of the Executor."

And at any other time, Luke would have jumped immediately at the possibility to explore a super star destroyer. Now, he shook his head.

"If you have any tools here… I would rather just work on Artoo for a bit…"

Vader appeared startled. He seemed to deliberate for a moment.

"There is a basic set of tools in the rooms adjoining our quarters. For a larger selection… I could take you to my hangar bay."

It was Luke's turn to be startled.

"Your hanger bay?..." his hesitation lasted but a split second. "I mean, yes! When can we go?"

It was childish, but he couldn't help himself. Luke's excitement was for reconnaissance purposes only, of course. Who knew what advanced TIE prototypes were lurking in this hangar bay? And then swiftly came the guilt. He was not here to gawk at the latest Imperial technology… Well, he was not here for any sort of benefit to the Alliance at all… But aside from the whole Empire Day problem, his father seemed to be acting cordially, and Luke couldn't help wanting to return the gesture.

"We can go in half an hour. I will stop by your quarters." the Sith stated.

There were insurmountable issues between them, Luke knew, and Vader was personally responsible for large swaths of all unhappiness in the Galaxy… But for now, Luke pushed it all aside, and let the boy he had once been enjoy a selfish moment. _With your_ _ **evil**_ _father_ , his consciousness supplied, sternly. ... _Who still loves my mother,_ Luke silenced it.

He placed hands in his jacket pockets, tilted his head, and didn't bother suppressing his grin.

"I'll be ready then."


	7. The Domino Effect

**Dathomir**

As she had done for many decades before, Mother Talzin stepped out onto the Stronghold's northern terrace. Dressed in shades of persimmon and cinnabar, like shimmering echoes of the sunset, her acolytes were arranging the last mana orbs upon the altar. The young sisters were quick to notice her entrance. They stepped away, joined palms in front of their chests, and lowered their gaze in respect. The High Elder dismissed them with a whisper. Soon, their footsteps dissipated in the distance, and with them, the last of worldly distractions drew out of her surroundings. Silently, thin yellow clouds stretched their wispy fingers towards the red horizon. Silently, the nocturnal creatures sharpened their claws below, waiting for the Lightshift. Hungry. She approached the altar, extended palms towards the darkening skies, and uttered her usual incantation. The incense sticks ignited with a snap-hiss.

Mother Talzin took pleasure inhaling the scented evenmist, and rested her hands on the carved parapet. They were old friends, this granite and her hands, except that her pale flesh showed more and more signs of age, while the black stone remained dispassionately the same. She mused how it would be standing here solid and unscathed, for the next Clan Mother to rest her hands upon, when the time came. Her gaze slowly drifted out towards the sunset.

Domir's arc of descent was steadily approaching the horizon. Its fiery reach cast the naked, wind-swept peaks of the Takhara range in pulsating hues of vivid crimson. And nearby, the soft evenlight spilled in swirls through the polished limestone arches and clay rooftops of the stronghold, as if reaching to enthrall its inhabitants. A group of younger nightsisters, who should have retired hours ago, were still practicing their katas on the courtyard below, their movements precise and deadly. The Elder allowed herself a smile. She narrowed her eyes, and her gaze shifted back to the horizon, over the hazy valleys of gravebush and redweed. There, like an aberration of light hidden amidst the vegetation, Domir's rays reflected in garish brilliance off the occasional hateful remnant of Dooku's mechanical army. Her smile vanished.

True, the coven was rebuilding... The deal she had struck nearly two decades ago had paid off. Yet, the scars Dooku's troops had inflicted upon her homeworld had never fully healed. The loss of magicks caused by Old Daka's sudden death had dealt a crippling blow to the coven. And the timing of her demise had been nothing short of catastrophic. Mother Talzin could still sense the foul tear in the Force, an ominous fissure hanging like a curse over the lost souls who could never rejoin the natural cycle of the planet.

Her long fingers slid like pale daggers across the dark, smooth surface of the granite. She closed her eyes, emptied her mind, and tried to focus on the familiar threads woven through the fabric of Force. The patterns, however, were still entirely unrecognizable. She had felt the disturbance. It had occurred mere hours ago, and had left the tapestry in a state too different to comprehend, too volatile to touch. Her eyes snapped open. Change was radiating, in shockwaves, from a singular event which had disrupted the usual weave of threads in the Galaxy. The incident was highly significant - its effect evidently throwing countless destinies off their path. She would need to wait for the aftershocks to settle, before attempting to delve too deep to unravel its meaning...

The Clan Mother took a deep breath and steadied herself. With a scarlet halo of a crown, Domir was kissing the Takhara peaks now, yearning for their dark embrace. The next few minutes passed slowly, as the last of the star's rays dimmed behind the mountains. The glowing evenmist cast Dathomir in a veil of amber gossamer. If one was able to appreciate such things, now was the time to fully take in this world's ethereal beauty.

She motioned with her hand, and the altar orbs sparked to life, collecting the magick of the Lighshift. The gathering dusk carried in waves familiar raw, ancient power. Mother Talzin spread her palms, and let her bones absorb it. She stood like so until the incense sticks had all burned out, and the skies had all but darkened.

When the Lightshift hour had fully gone, she swirled around and entered the stronghold, charged crystal orbs floating leisurely behind her. She made her way to the gathering hall, and seated herself at the head of a massive obsidian table. The crystal orbs arranged themselves near a large glowing sphere, positioned at its center. Mother Talzin swiped a hand over it. She knew the call was coming. By now, Sidious had certainly felt the disturbance himself.

The emerald fog swirled within the sphere a second longer, then, the image of a shrunken old man, eyes aglow with Sith magic shrouded under a heavy hood, took shape inside. It seemed the years had not been kind to Sidious, but what he had lost in appearance, he had arguably gained in status.

"Darth Sidious... " Her voice crackled in the cavernous hall, imbued with the power of Clan Mothers who had come before her. "You chose to call at a peculiar time."

The old man's face split into an uneven smile.

"Mother Talzin. It has been too long."

Talzin lifted her chin. She did not see a reason to reply. He had contacted her, so he ought to divulge the purpose of his call himself.

"Once again, I have need of your abilities."

 _I could have guessed that much, thought the Elder._

"The Bloodline has passed... to another generation."

Mother Talzin bristled. _That_ … was not possible.

"You are certain of this?"

"However improbable, the child lived - and now, fully grown, it is disrupting order in my Galaxy. I must have it contained."

The High Elder kept silent for many heartbeats, her inner eye searching for answers that did not wish to flow forth. But, there would be plenty of time for that later.

"You know what we want in return."

"And you shall have it. I will arrange for an opportunity at the Empire Day celebration on Coruscant. Be smart about it - leave no trace behind. The kidnapping will be officially condemned by the Empire, and I know just where to place the blame." He paused. "Do what you need with the child, then deliver it to me. "

Mother Talzin said nothing for a while, carefully studying the Sith's face.

"We shall have an agreement, then."

"Good," cackled Sidious. His expression drew flat. "You will alert me when you are ready for the transfer."

Mother Talzin nodded, and the connection flickered out. She leaned back, fingers tapping on the table.

"And as I will it... So mote it be," she whispered in the empty hall. The echoes of her many voices carried the words through the stone corridors.

Change was coming for Dathomir.

 **ISSD Executor**

Admiral Piett swirled the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler, took a small sip, then gently set it down. He reclined back in the chair, steepled fingers over his chest, and tried to convince himself to relax. The last several months on the Executor had been a living nightmare - the hunt for Skywalker driving Lord Vader to new, unfathomable heights of exacting irritability, and the crew, consequently, to complete exhaustion and near madness. At least Piett now understood why.

He reached for another sip of his drink. This plum brandy from Naboo, a very rare indulgence, tasted like golden fire on his lips, its warmth spreading in pleasant ripples through his limbs. Piett was going to sleep well tonight, perhaps for the first time in… he tried not to count. Yes, the search was done, finally, all over... and the Rebellion's poster child had turned out to be no other than Lord Vader's lost son. Besides the feeling of complete bewilderment that he undoubtedly shared with most Imperial citizens, he was only too happy to have the elusive former rebel prodigy securely and irreversibly in Imperial custody.

Piett chuckled at the thought of how the Rebellion's High Command had taken the news. There were the usual rubbish channels that were screaming "fake news" on the HoloNet, but the fact that the Rebellion's own outlets remained quiet as a tomb was very telling. The Empire's official channels, on the other hand, had been anything but. Skywalker was redeemed, forgiven, and loudly embraced back into the fold - his reinvention from the Rebellion's wonder boy to the Empire's prodigal son now complete, with honors, fanfare and aplomb. It must have been an excruciating punch in the gut for the Rebels, one they surely deserved. To kidnap the boy and brainwash him as a tool, against his own father - the entire saga had gripped the imaginations of beings high and low, and could probably feed years of highly acclaimed Holo Drama, if anyone actually had the chops to produce it.

Lord Vader had not spoken publicly since his initial reveal, and Piett was not surprised. He had made it abundantly clear that he would not tolerate any intrusions on his, or his son's, privacy. The press, the court, and everyone else with a survival instinct obeyed. But, they craved more. Piett signed. He remembered staring in disbelief at the holo of a suspiciously young face during that first top clearance briefing, when the identity of the pilot who had delivered the statistically impossible shot on the Death Star was revealed. His first thought back then was that whoever had identified the rebel, had obviously made a (soon to be costly) mistake. Well, it all made perfect sense now. Piett was no fool - he had been a boy during the Clone Wars, he remembered the Jedi Order, and what it was supposed to represent. The Force was no myth - just as it had once given power to the Jedi, it now served Lord Vader's whim... And, judging by the odds of the shot which had destroyed the Death Star, his son's whim as well. This boy, by decree of the Emperor himself, now represented the future of the Empire…

Piett took a large sip of his brandy, then closed his eyes. He should really move to his bunk, but he felt so comfortable here… The faint scent of vetiver, a pleasant distraction which reminded him of home, soothed his senses. He had lit the colorful candle, an odd sort of gift from his niece which he never thought he would actually use. She had made it for the Axxilan Festival of …So here he was now, enjoying the warm glow and the semblance of peace it brought. He would make sure to get her something nice on his next visit home. She would be turning ten soon… or was it eleven?...

The Executor's engines hummed their sweet lullaby, and for the first time in a very long while, life appeared calm, good even. And just when the admiral started to finally drift off, the serene murmur of the engines abruptly came to a stop.

Piett jolted upright, listening carefully to the ship, which, judging by the sounds, was now preparing for a hyperspace drop-out sequence. He cursed and slammed a hand on his comm.

"Piett to bridge."

"Yes, Admiral?"

Captain Venka had the gall to answer him calmly.

"For what reason have we dropped out of hyperspace, Captain?"

"Lord Vader's orders, sir. He wishes to conduct a flight exercise."

Piett knew better than to question Darth Vader's orders on a public channel. There was no reason for Vader to be scheduling flight exercises at this moment, he had made it very clear that their single objective was to reach Mustafar as soon as possible. Unless…

Piett knew he would probably end up regretting this bout of curiosity later. He could not ask about Skywalker's whereabouts directly. Vader would have undoubtedly placed a tracker for any and all inquiries pertaining to the boy. He calmed his nerves, and steadied his voice.

"Has Black Squadron been summoned?"

"No, sir. Lord Vader stated it is to be a private exercise."

"Where is the take off point?"

"Dock One, sir."

Vader's personal hangar bay.

"Carry on, Captain."

"Yes, Admiral."

The comm went silent. Piett mumbled under his breath, then reached for his tunic. He sighed as he pulled it over his shirt, then buttoned up the collar. The uniform was not pristine, he had worn it all day. There were probably wrinkles in the back that he couldn't even see. For a moment, he considered changing into a fresh one. But time was of the essence, so he ran a comb through his hair, put his cap on, and headed out the door. Ten seconds later, he was back in his quarters, the mumble now developing into a string of mild curses. He took off his tunic and shirt, and tossed them on the floor, deliberately denying himself the urge to place them neatly in the service droid bin where they belonged. He rushed for the fresher, examined his chin to make sure that it did not need a shave yet, took full three seconds to reaffirm his decision that he definitely did not have time for a sonic shower, then simply changed into a new shirt and uniform, placed the cap on his neatly combed head, and lastly, took a breath freshener to mask the scent of the brandy. Then, the admiral regarded himself sternly in the mirror, took a deep breath, and headed for the door once more.

He briskly made his way towards the bridge. The Executor officially kept no night shift - the personnel was split evenly in three rotations, thus no station remained undermanned, and no surprises were to be had from suicidal Rebels or other galactic scum, should they decide to "time" their attack. Not that anyone in their right mind would attempt an open assault on the Executor… The three rotations in turn changed at a random schedule, so that not even the Imperials themselves would be able to reliably predict when Admiral Piett (or Lord Vader) would be on the bridge. It was good for the morale and safety of the crew if the ship's operations were kept at peak efficiency at all times. Naturally.

Still, the corridors seemed relatively deserted, and Piett put more spring in his step. As he reached the bridge, he was met with a surprise gathering of Black Squadron pilots, who were occupying the most lucrative deck observation points. The rest of the bridge crew seemed caught in a lull, staring out the viewports at any vantage vectors they could muster. No one seemed to notice his entry. Piett stopped, faced the crew-pits, placed hands on his hips, and broke the unnatural silence:

"Would anyone please care to explain this complete lapse in protocol, ladies and gentlemen? Just what do you think is going on here? Captain Venka?"

Venka had managed to spin his entire body around in a single jump, in less than half a second, before Piett had finished speaking. He appeared startled, and his face was visibly turning red.

"Admiral!…"

Piett did not see fit to deign that with a response.

"We were just… " Venka motioned helplessly at the viewports, seemingly further lost for words.

"Their flying, Admiral. It is truly spectacular."

Finally. Commander Neerik of Black Squadron was able to speak, and make some kind of sense. Piett approached the transparisteel viewports, as the pronoun "their" began to take on a distinct shape in his mind. Outside, he saw Lord Vader's Advanced TIE fighter performing what could be delicately described as avant-garde and undocumented flight maneuvers off the Executor's bow. The ship had just zoomed by on a trajectory reminiscent of a parade pass, while spinning. The frequency of the spins was clearly unnatural. But what catapulted this display of skill straight into the uncanny territory was a second ship - the latest TIE Advanced prototype. It was flying so close to Lord Vader's, that their wings seemed to be touching. And, it was was performing each spin, dive and turn in perfect unison.

The two pilots now appeared to be running through all standard maneuvers from the Imperial Academy Flight Show manual, with velocity and precision Piett had not had the occasion of witnessing before. After several breathless minutes, they switched to moves completely unfamiliar to the admiral, nor the members of Black Squadron, judging by their expressions. It was no longer possible to say which ship led and which followed. They continued performing acrobatics in absolute sync and dangerous proximity. Piett's bewildered mind was briefly crossed by the patriotic thought that should an accident occur, both heirs to the Empire would be lost, and perhaps this display should be stopped. Yet, he simply continued to stare out the viewport, mesmerized. Occasionally, the pilots would break apart, and perform opposing knife edge or inverted/inverted rolls at each other, at speeds that blew regulation to smithereens, eliciting collective gasps from the bridge audience. After a final brush with mutual annihilation, which incited an audible breath intake from more than a few bridge spectators, the two ships locked into a flawless echelon parade formation, and headed to the hangar bay at a leisurely pace.

While some Black Squadron pilots were watching the display in awe, others had blank expressions frozen on their faces. Piett's guess about the identity of the second pilot was thus reaffirmed - these officers had probably lost a crew member or two to Luke Skywalker over the past few years. As the ships were about to disappear in the hangar bay, the admiral cleared his throat, and motioned to set bridge operations back in order.

"Back to your stations, everyone! Neerik, if you would follow me."

The crew scurried off to their duties amidst bouts of hushed whispers. Piett saw them settled into a proper routine, then headed with Neerik towards Dock One. He was given a chance to satisfy his curiosity about Skywalker, and he was taking it. However, the admiral had no wish to venture into that hangar bay alone. He smirked. Someone better be there to have his body properly disposed of, should Lord Vader decide to treat his interference as a capital offense. Sadly, he was only half joking about this possibility. Piett glanced at Neerik. She walked silently beside him, absorbed in her own thoughts. Soon the officers found themselves in front of the hangar bay entrance. They exchanged a brief look, Piett straightened his tunic, hit the door panel, and strode in the space ahead with an aura of carefully schooled determination.

His attempt to hold his neutral facial expression was mercilessly wiped out, as the following outlandish scene painted itself swiftly before his eyes. The boy, Skywalker, sat cross legged atop a cargo crate, back ramrod straight, eyes closed, hands folded on his lap. In front of him, in mid air, floated a myriad of what appeared to be silver and chrome particles, arranged in a hypnotizing formation around a glowing red crystal. The largest shape, a cylinder with black ridges, performed languid rotations around its long axis, and Piett suddenly grasped that this was no abstract puzzle, but Lord Vader's very own lightsaber levitating in tiny pieces. Next to him, Neerik gasped. The sound startled Skywalker, who flinched and opened his eyes, as everything came crashing down with protracted clinks and clanks, and the metal pieces scattered on the duracrete floor as if endowed with great alacrity. That is, all pieces except for the red crystal, which remained glued in mid-air in front of the wide-eyed boy. Piett tore his own gaze away with an effort, and looked up at Lord Vader, who loomed motionless next to the crate. Vader placed hands on his hips, and the weight of his attention suddenly settled on Piett's shoulders like a bundle of durasteel pylons.

Skywalker sighed, then jumped from the crate and briefly scanned the floor. He motioned to kneel down and gather the pieces, but a gloved hand settled on his shoulder and stopped him. The youth looked up at Vader, then turned and settled his gaze on Piett. Neerik had smarly taken a step back. The admiral felt a strong urge to explain their intrusion, and fast. He cleared his throat.

"Apologies for the interruption, Lord Vader…"

The red crystal continued to spin eerily in mid air above the crate.

"What is it, Admiral?"

Oh yes, the dangerous undercurrent was there, for certain. Piett knew he better stick to a very close version of the truth now. He tried to summarize it as succinctly as possible.

"Ah... we just came to express our admiration for your flying, on behalf of all bridge crew, and Black Squadron."

The term that could perhaps best describe Lord Vader's opinion on flattery was disgust, yet Piett hoped that his words had not sounded as hollow as when he replayed them in his head, and that his sentiment came across as it was, sincere… Also, the compliment was obviously meant to include his son.

His son, whom Piett had completely forgotten to address. Protocol dictated that he should acknowledge the new high ranking Imperial, by greeting him properly. Which he should have done by now, except that he did not know how to address the youth - the admiral feverishly tried to remember proper court etiquette in such cases, but there was no established precedent. And so, the seconds kept piling up, and Lord Vader kept... waiting? The silence was becoming uncomfortable, the durasteel pylons pressed menacingly on his shoulders, and Piett felt his stomach tangle in knots. It HAD been a bad idea to barge into this hangar bay...

He had to take a risk. He faced Skywalker, bowed, and settled for the safest title he could come up with.

"My lord…"

He straightened up just in time to notice Skywalker's expression swiftly morphing into a cringe, his shoulders tensing up. And then, Lord Vader finally spoke.

"Commander Skywalker was impressed with the speed and maneuverability of the latest TIE Advanced prototype", his voice boomed, mercifully extending the desirable form of address. Piett exhaled, slowly.

"You truly showcased these qualities to their full extent, Commander," he offered diplomatically, and Neerik, finally awakened from her stupor, had the grace to step forward and nod in agreement.

"Uh… Thank you," Skywalker paused, perhaps about to add more, but remaining silent. He looked even younger than on the underground holos the ISB had managed to scrounge up of him.

Neerik stepped up.

"We would be honored if you would partake in exercises with us, Commander Skywalker."

Bold move. She quickly amended:

"That is, if it would not interfere with Lord Vader's plans."

"Skywalker's schedule is filled for the foreseeable future, Commander."

As Vader spoke, the eerie red crystal suddenly zoomed in mid air to take position in front of the dark figure. Then, with a sweep of the gloved hand, the other parts sprung to life from the floor, and formed into a line. Vader closed his hand into a fist, as the parts clicked together with tremendous speed to complete the familiar outline of his lightsaber. The weapon spun, jumped into his hand, and was swiftly attached to his belt. The whole action took a split second. Neerik was obviously very careful not to react at the Force display this time around. Skywalker himself was visibly impressed, as if dying to ask, "How did you do that?" But once again, he said nothing. For the past several years, Piett had rarely seen Vader exercise his powers in the open. And when he did, the intent was usually deadly. It was rare to observe these powers used for something other than executions or warfare.

Vader looked at the boy.

"Luke, would you show Commander Neerik the microfractures you detected on your wing brace? Neerik, document everything, and make sure the design team takes a good look at your next meeting."

Skywalker appeared taken back for a moment, then sighed and obeyed with a nod. He led Neerik away towards the ships at the back of the hangar bay. And ships there were plenty of to go around. Various TIE fighter prototypes were surrounded by an odd collection of Clone Wars era military vehicles from both sides of that half-forgotten conflict, in various states of completeness or disrepair. And amidst them, in all its glory, shone the chromium spaceframe of a J-type 327 Nubian. This particular ship, if Piett's memory served him right, was once reserved exclusively for use by the sovereign of Naboo. Its ethereal elegance was starkly out of place among the other, strictly utilitarian and militaristic inhabitants of this hangar bay. Where and why Vader had procured this particular specimen, Piett could not begin to fathom, but it was indeed a rare beauty to behold. Perhaps it was an honored gift from the Emperor himself. After all, Naboo was his homeworld…

"Admiral."

Piett snapped to attention. Was that strain in Vader's tone?

"My lord?"

"It is good that you came here. I've been meaning to talk to you about my son. I want you to personally evaluate any gaps in his formal education, then compile a report and a plan to correct them."

Piett was rendered speechless for a moment.

"Sir… surely, there must be someone more qualified…"

Vader lifted his chin.

"Uh… I… will do my best, sir," he gathered his wits about him.

"Good. After all, your own academic performance before joining the Fleet has been most remarkable."

Piett's eyebrows shot up, but he quickly schooled his expression.

"Um... I assume you wish him evaluated against the Coruscanti Common Core Standards?"

"No. Use the Standardized Scholastic Levels from Naboo. And have it done before we reach Mustafar. I will let him know."

"Yes, my lord."

"And Admiral… you know what is at stake here."

Piett's shoulders stiffened. This was not at all how he had thought this evening would unfold. Curiosity killed the Admiral, right?... That's how he would be remembered.

"I understand, sir."

He was rescued by Neerik and Skywalker, who auspiciously chose this very moment to return. Vader placed a hand on Skywalker's shoulder, and turned to the officers.

"Give us a moment."

Piett motioned to Neerik, who gave a small bow, then followed him away. They stopped to wait by the hangar bay doors, and Piett tried to muster some small talk, as not to appear like they were paying any attention to Vader's conversation. After about a minute, Skywalker met them at the door.

"Neerik, you are with me. We have more issues to discuss," Vader's voice boomed again. It was time for Neerik to be startled, but she dutifully headed back towards the dark figure.

"Admiral, if you would show Commander Skywalker back to his quarters. He needs to rest."

Piett had exhausted his capacity to be surprised for one day. He just nodded, and responded with the usual "Yes, my lord", in the most professional tone he could summon. Vader and Neerik headed towards the back bowels of the damned hangar bay, and that was that. The admiral had simply wished to satisfy his curiosity about Skywalker. Now, it seemed like he was way over his pay grade into this venture.

His gaze was drawn to the youth, who was observing him with what Piett had begun to recognize as his usual air of reserved candor. This was the first time he'd had a chance to take a good look at this infamous Rebel pilot turned Imperial prince... Piett hoped his curiosity was not too obviously crass, but he could not help himself. Half of the genetic material that made up this boy had come from Darth Vader. Not the height, obviously. And Piett could only make conjectures about the rest of his appearance. The boy had healed well, his face clear of bruises, his posture straight. He wore a naval uniform tunic, which hung a bit loosely on his slender frame, unfastened and with no rank insignia, over a shocking light shirt of unknown origins. The Admiral curtailed his curiosity to examine the rest of his mismatched outfit, and settled his gaze on the boy's face. The sandy blond hair, too long by any regulation, was in its usual disarray. The thoughtful light eyes and straight nose added nobility to his sincere expression, and certainly there was something hard and unforgiving hidden in the line of his jaw. Piett could not restrain his idle guessing about which features had come from the mother, and which from the father…

He suddenly caught on that the youth was regarding him with a pensive expression, patiently waiting for them to head out already. He was probably tired... And behind those sincere, but wary eyes, Piett could clearly detect the pain from the recent shock the boy had suffered. He found himself just as suddenly offering a smile. And a nod of support. What, in the blazes, was he thinking… The boy tilted his head, his brows briefly drawing together… but then, he returned the smile, even if wanly. Well… That could have gone much worse.

Piett motioned forward.

"Shall we?"

Skywalker placed hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders, in a motion that seemed eerily familiar.

"Sure."


	8. The Old and the New

**Admiral Piett**

And just like it was the most natural occurrence, Piett walked side-by-side with Skywalker down the Executor's long corridors. The Admiral wanted to strike a conversation, but there was no safe topic to be found. He was uncertain of Skywalker's current state of mind about his newly discovered identity - it could be fluctuating anywhere between despair and happy acceptance. Piett cast a brief glance to his side. The boy walked in silence, hands still clasped behind his back. It was already a few hours past midnight Standard Time, and Lord Vader had said his son needed to rest. Yet still...

"Are you hungry, by any chance?"

Skywalker had not expected this question. He looked at the Admiral in stride, and shrugged.

Piett chose to interpret that as a "yes".

"We will make a quick stop then."

The former rebel did not seem particularly excited about this prospect, but did not protest either. They took a turn, a turbolift, and soon reached the officer observation lounge on one of the upper decks. It was auspiciously deserted at this time. The Admiral noticed Lord Vader's noghri slinking after them. Naturally, there were no chances to be taken with Skywalker's security; the noghri must have followed them from the hangar bay. His small dark frame quietly sank back into the shadows. Piett decided to ignore him. The Admiral chose a secluded table near the viewports, and motioned for Skywalker to take the seat facing the starscape - he wanted to shield him from any gawking, should other officers find themselves in the vicinity. Then, Piett summoned a droid, and handed a menu to the boy. Skywalker took the tablet, glancing at it absentmindedly.

"Take your time."

While the youth was occupied with the menu, Piett took another opportunity to examine him. The medical team Lord Vader had summoned had done their job well - even upon close inspection, one could not tell that Skywalker's right hand was a prosthetic. Piett couldn't help but wonder what it must feel like learning to call the man who just sliced your hand off "Father". Skywalker stared at the tablet a second longer, then placed it screen down on the table.

"Admiral. How long have you served with my… Lord Vader?"

His answer came a few seconds later than it should have.

"I've had that privilege for two years."

The boy regarded him thoughtfully.

"Can you... tell me something about him?"

Piett's fingers twitched under the table. He ought to choose his words with care.

"Lord Vader… He went to greath lengths to find you. Retrieving you has been our squadron's primary objective for the past two years."

The boy looked down and sighed, entwining his fingers over the table. He probably knew what Piett was about to say next, but it was the type of innocuous information the Admiral had no qualms divulging.

"Lord Vader is our Empire's second in command. When he speaks, he speaks with the Emperor's voice. A command from him is a command from the Emperor himself."

As predicted, that did not seem to be the type of answer Skywalker was looking for. Piett paused, then decided to take a risk.

"He is a very private person. To be honest, we weren't even sure of his species, before you came along."

Skywalker raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know if… Have you ever seen him with…" the boy's questions trailed off, then he sighed. "Nevermind."

" _Who is he asking about?"_ Piett wondered, but noted the dejection written on Skywalker's face, and decided not to probe the subject further. Perhaps a change of topic altogether...

"How long have you been with the Rebellion?

"Three years."

Wait… if this was the case, the Rebels must have sunk their claws into him not too long before Yavin? When did they have time to train him as a pilot?... He must have been taught by the rogue Jedi who had kidnapped him shortly after birth...

"And before that?..."

"I grew up on Tatooine."

Tatooine. An insignificant dustball under Huttese control, somewhere in the Outer Rim. Piett was surprised he remembered it at all. No wonder Lord Vader was concerned about his education. The Jedi's goal had been to create a weapon, and weapons required training, not education. On Tatooine, of all places. But why had Vader insisted on using Naboo's standard examinations to evaluate him?

"Have you ever been to Naboo?"

"Naboo?... No, I don't think so."

Perhaps it was the Emperor's wish that Skywalker should learn about Naboo. Which was odd, because His Highness had never displayed sentimentality about his home planet. As far as anyone was concerned, he had fully embraced Imperial Center as his world. Not that Piett should be spending too much time musing about such things…

"Why?... What is on Naboo?"

"Ah… The planet has some intriguing history from the Clone Wars. Most notably, it is the birthplace of our Emperor."

That revelation did not seem to spark any interest in Skywalker, but he soon recalled a piece of information about Naboo on his own:

"They have several iconic ship designs from that era, with incredible collector value."

Skywalker was right, and in fact, a few of those iconic ships were resting in his father's hangar bay at this very moment. Piett steered the conversation towards famous vintage ship models, and noted that the boy's mood seemed to lighten up. There were moments where he appeared to forget his current circumstances, and talk about a certain wing plating or hyperdrive rig in a lively, animated fashion. This was one bright, spirited youth, caught on the wrong side of the war by forces outside of his control. Piett suddenly felt sorry for him.

"May I ask how you came to join the Rebellion?"

Skywalker's light mood dispersed in a flash. He leaned back in his chair, his tone suddenly clipped.

"No. Not today."

Piett kicked himself mentally. The youth had suffered plenty of trauma already, handling it most admirably, and just as they were having a normal conversation, he had to go poking around, stirring painful memories.

"All this must be difficult for you to accept."

The boy's face darkened, and his gaze abruptly wandered out the viewports.

"But it will get better with time…" ventured the admiral.

Skywalker did not respond. Piett took the abandoned menu, and ordered several small plates from the daily specials. Hopefully, the boy would like at least one of them. After a moment's hesitation, he added two cups of hot chocolate. With tang bark. A long time ago, before alcohol… when he'd been young and had suffered his fair share of problems, hot chocolate had shown a rare knack to make things feel better. Sometimes.

 **Luke**

Luke stopped by the front door to his quarters. He turned to Admiral Piett, the officer who had been tasked with escorting him back. The man had surprised him. He did not fit into the image of an Imperial admiral that Luke had cultivated in his head over the past few years.

"Thank you, Admiral."

"It was my pleasure."

Luke gave a nod, then turned to enter his rooms.

"Commander Skywalker."

The youth looked back and raised an eyebrow.

"Let me know if there is anything I can do to ease your adjustment here. I gladly offer you my support."

Luke was exhausted, his new hand throbbing, his thoughts - dazed by the events of the past few days. This admiral was further complicating his worldview.

"Great!" he flashed an exaggerated smile. "After I escape, I will make sure to put in a good word for you with High Command. The Alliance can always use an officer of your caliber."

All color suddenly drained from the Admiral's face.

"I am joking, Admiral."

"Naturally."

The officer looked like he had bitten off a particularly bitter piece of Corellian thornstripe melon, which he was now forcing himself to swallow, just to be polite. Luke sighed.

"I won't be making escape attempts. I've given my... Lord Vader… my word."

Judging by his expression, the admiral remained concerned.

"Plus, you showed me this hot chocolate drink - I owe you one. You are the last person I would implicate in my ploys to take down the Empire."

At last, Piett's expression eased, and gave an uncertain chuckle.

"Rest well, Commander."

"You too."

Finally alone, Luke rushed to check on Artoo. He had cleaned the little droid, then Vader helped him fix the booster rockets which Luke never knew existed. After that, his father had ordered Artoo straight back to their quarters, and because of the restraining bolt, the droid had no choice but to obey. Artoo charged out to greet him, floating in mid-air.

"Artoo! How are you feeling, buddy? Everything okay with your boosters?"

Artoo beeped excitedly.

"Glad to hear! Settle down, settle down… Yes, I am okay myself. Listen, I've been meaning to ask you… just how do you know my father?"

The little droid went silent.

"I see. The restraining bolt? So, he has prevented you from answering any questions he deems inconvenient."

Artoo confirmed with a short beep.

"Well… we will just have to see about that."

The restraining bolt was a problem he needed to make a priority. He should sit down and examine exactly what programming went into it, regardless of how frazzled his brain felt at the moment. He knew he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep anyway. Luke threw off the Imperial tunic, and headed to the common room between his and his father's quarters, to search for the set of basic tools Vader had mentioned. His thoughts drifted to Leia…He worried about her - was she able to rejoin the fleet?... With all the Imperial propaganda inevitably gone out in the last few days, High Command may start to believe that Luke had truly betrayed them… If he could only contact her, speak to her… Luke looked around the room, and started going through the sets of built-in drawers. He found neat stacks upon stacks of datapads - literature selections from various parts of the galaxy, ship engine schematics, articles on hyperdrive design, and after several more mechanical engineering titles, he decided to move onto another set of drawers. He wondered whether this was what Vader chose to read in his free time, or a selection curated especially for Luke?

Vader… Luke tried not to think about the last few hours spent in his father's company. There were moments, as the two of them were working on Artoo, or flying… or taking the lightsaber apart… when everything felt right in Luke's world, regardless of how wracked with guilt that realization was. And the way Vader felt about his mother… yet refused to tell him anything about her. Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to push the thoughts away. With a deep sigh, he looked around the room once more. Nothing jumped out at him. He stretched his back, rubbed his eyes, and tried to suppress a yawn.

" _Luke. Why are you still awake?"_

The youth nearly jumped. This new form of communication could feel positively intrusive at times.

" _Father... How can you tell that I am awake?"_

" _I will teach you how. And the more you apply yourself, the sooner you will have some real privacy."_

Luke shook his head.

" _Well, I am certainly motivated."_

" _Go to sleep, young one. Do not get up to meet me early."_

Falling asleep at this point still seemed like an unlikely prospect. Luke issued a mock military salute in the imaginary direction of his father.

" _Yes,_ _ **Sir**_ _."_

He immediately felt a jab on the bond.

" _Ow."_

Oh fine…

" _Good night, Father."_

There was a brush against his consciousness, soothing, almost gentle. A new feeling, not unlike warmth, extended his way… A part of Luke wanted to wrap himself in it, like a blanket.

" _Sleep well, my son."_

Luke smiled.

" _You too."_

Did his father even sleep?... The particular space in his mind where he imagined his connection to Vader to be housed went dormant, but if Luke focused on it, he could still sense the residual trace of his father's presence. He was surprised to find it reassuring. Perhaps he should indeed try to get some sleep. He doubted that he could make any progress on the restraining bolt in his current state, even if he managed to find the tools. Artoo's secrets would just have to wait another day.

Luke grabbed one of the datapads with podracing engine schematics which had caught his attention earlier, and headed back to this rooms. He marveled at the shower, decked out in polished dark marble streaked with veins of gently glowing quartzite. The brushed gold fixtures, elegant in their simple curves, spouted unabashedly real water in a myriad of configurations. A built-in control panel enticed Luke to scent the water, or illuminate it in different color patterns. The only other person he knew who could have ever experienced such level of luxury was probably Leia…

Luke dried off, and got into another set of pyjamas he found diligently folded in his closet. Had it really been mere hours since he had first woken up in this place?... finally, he headed for bed. His right wrist pulsated strangely as he held up the datapad, and the colorful engine schematics floated in his field of vision. Luke soon gave up on reading. He closed his eyes, taking deliberate slow breaths… his thoughts racing. Who was his mother?... Where had this bounty hunter dragged Han off to? Where was Leia now?... Han frozen in carbonite, both of them getting captured in the first place, it had all been Luke's fault... He tossed and turned on the luxuriously comfortable bed for what seemed like an hour, exasperated, unable to calm down and drift off. He remembered Bespin, as if it was a distant dream, his father, extending a hand to him on that gantry, and himself, falling down and down… helplessly hanging from the weather vane at the bottom of the city…

Suddenly, Luke had an idea. He jumped from bed, and sat cross-legged on the floor, assuming the same meditation position Vader had shown him earlier. He had called Leia, out of despair on Bespin, and she had heard him then. He focused his thoughts, trying to distill the core of her essence from his memories. Leia's beautiful face, her intelligent eyes, her voice, her smile, her mannerism… the warm feeling when she was nearby…

A tiny ball of light materialized in his consciousness. Luke reached out for it, as it unraveled, like yarn, and led him to a new place in his mind, a place that was now... Leia's...? Luke took a deep breath, and focused all willpower on it.

" _Leia…"_

He waited patiently for several heartbeats. Nothing. He took a deep breath, reached for the ball of light, and tried again.

" _Leia…"_

The little light came alive in his mind, pulsating vividly.

" _Luke?..."_

Luke's exuberance disrupted the meditation, and their "connection" was lost. He jumped up and scolded himself, pacing around the room. When he felt calm enough to try again, he settled down on the floor, and repeated the whole process. This time, when he heard Leia's voice, he was able to answer back.

" _Leia!…Oh, Leia… I have so much to tell you!..."_

 **Vader**

Lord Vader was about to wrap up his review of the 47th Task Force deployment to the Hevvrol sector, when his concentration was broken by the sudden beep of the door chime. The sheer audacity of this to-be-visitor to disturb him at this hour was so highly unlikely, that for a few moments he thought he had misheard it. Yet the chime rang again soon after, at which point Vader realized two things in quick succession: he didn't have his helmet on, and his son was about to enter his quarters. He threw the datapad aside, swiftly spun the meditation pod so that his back was facing the door, and scrambled for the controls to place the helmet back on.

Luke rushed into the room without an invitation, and a few seconds _before_ the droid assistant had completed the task of placing his helmet. The familiar sound of his respirator filled the room again, and he slowly spun the pod to face Luke. His anger exploded in the short space between him and his son, like dark flames seeking to consume this boy, who had intruded here as such a convenient offering. He should really take the time to instill some discipline in him. The boy stared at the mask wide-eyed, then averted his gaze, guilt and regret pouring on the bond.

"Father, I…" his voice was unsteady. "I am sorry, I shouldn't have barged in like this…"

Vader said nothing for a while. He got out of the pod, and took a few steps towards the boy, who uneasily shifted weight on his feet.

"What is it, Luke?"

His son lifted his face to look at him, the obvious question he did not dare ask written plainly on his face. Vader sternly warned Luke on the bond to let it go. The boy sighed, and placed hands underneath his arms. He was in pyjamas, barefoot - clearly, he had stomped in here straight out of bed.

"What is the matter, son?" Vader asked again, now concerned.

"I...uh…" Luke took a few more moments to compose himself. "I have a proposal."

Vader braced himself.

"Oh?"

"I spoke with Leia… she is in danger. She figured out where Han was taken, and is planning a rescue mission…"

"You did _**what**_?" his voice boomed in the cavernous chamber, and Luke flinched.

"No, it's not what you think! I didn't slice into the ship's communication arrays… I contacted her the same way I talk to you, when we… use the Force?..."

Vader stilled. Well, this was certainly sudden, if not entirely unexpected. So, after all this time… his suspicions were correct… How the Organas were able to hide her for so long, was a question that would likely forever remain unanswered. She was untrained, that much he was certain of. Clearly, the shielding placed around her was done by someone with extraordinary skill. He should have _never_ let her go. Vader placed hands on his hips, his voice dark.

" **Where** is she?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask…"

"You just randomly discovered that you can speak with her this way?..."

The boy looked uncertain again.

"The first time, I called out to her on Cloud City... She heard, and came back for me."

Vader had seen the footage of Luke's retrieval from Bespin, and shuddered once again at the possibility of a very different outcome: his son losing his grip and falling off that accursed weather vane before the Millenium Falcon was able to make it back. He was about to comment on Luke's poor choices on Bespin, which had left him in the precarious position of having to make this call in the first place. He held back the remark.

"Do not attempt it again without the necessary precautions. If she is too far away, your link may create ripples in the Force, which can be traced by anyone who decides to listen in."

"Precautions?"

"I will soon teach you."

Vader swirled around. This was a disturbance that he would need to carefully accommodate for.

"Now… you mentioned a proposal?"

"Yes."

Luke hesitated.

"The bounty hunter who got Han took him to Jabba the Hutt, on Tatooine."

"I could have told you that. All you needed to do was track down Solo's next largest bounty, after I paid the one issued by the Empire."

"Leia is planning a mission to get him out, but they are only a few people… I am afraid they will all get in big trouble; she doesn't know what the Hutts are capable of…"

"A few people?... And Organa among them?"

Luke nodded. The random thought of (indomitable) Princess Organa, stripped down and chained as a slave to Jabba the Hutt, suddenly angered him. His ever present hatred for the Hutts flared up in bright red shards in his mind.

"Don't tell me. Your High Command has already denied this rescue mission, and Organa is planning to go rogue. For once, I agree with Mothma. The Princess is too valuable to risk over someone like Solo."

As expected, Luke did not deny the situation. He did protest vehemently about Solo's worth though, then finally, came to the point.

"Listen, Father… I will train as hard as I can, I will give it all… I will bring my best performance on Coruscant, even dress up in Imperial insignia - anything you ask… All I ask is, let me go for a few days, to help get Han and Leia out of this. It is my fault they are in this situation in the first place!"

" _Anything_ I ask?"

Luke took a deep breath.

"Except turning to the Dark Side. This hasn't changed."

Vader stared his son down. He knew it wasn't just the about the Dark Side. The boy would refuse to do anything which went against his core principles. Still, the promise of full cooperation on Coruscant, and the extra effort he would undoubtedly put into training… It was tempting. And, he would finally be able to solve the mystery of Leia Organa.

The Sith straightened his shoulders, and spoke with a grave voice.

"You expect **me** to allow my only son, whom I just regained after nineteen years, to embark on an ill-conceived mission to Tatooine, so he can rescue an infamous Rebellion operative and a third-class smuggler?"

Luke frowned and bit his lip.

"That will **never** happen. However… " Vader took pleasure in observing Luke's face, anticipating the incredulous expression that was about to spread on it shortly. "I can accompany my son, to make sure that the mission is successful."


End file.
